


The Fact Checkers

by witandwaldorf



Category: The Hating Game - Sally Thorne, Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Co-workers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-15 08:23:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 28,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17525213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witandwaldorf/pseuds/witandwaldorf
Summary: The only undisputable fact Lucy Preston knows is this:She hates Garcia Flynn.For precisely one year, she's been subjected to Flynn's daily remonstrations about her low-grade quality as a fact checker and his penchant for calling her Lucia- a name close enough to her real name yet inaccurate enough to show her his apathy. Worse yet, they're confined to the depths of the basement with only each other for company.Every day, she stares across at the face of the man who truly scares her and is reminded that she should leave this place. But then, a promotion is announced and it seems like she'll finally have the chance to one-up her most bitter rival, leaving him behind to sulk in the basement office all alone to never be seen or heard from again.The prospect is a dream come true.But then, a moment in a stairwell changes everytime between them. Suddenly, Lucy is rethinking her declared loathing of this man. She starts to think, perhaps it's not a dream after all. Nor, a nightmare.A reality, instead. One that's in desperate need of fact checking.





	1. Part One.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by The Hating Game by Sally Thorne
> 
> A two-part AU fic.

_"Love and hate are visceral. Your stomach twists at the thought of that person. The heart in your chest beats heavy and bright, nearly visible through your flesh and clothes. Your appetite and sleep are shredded. Every interaction spikes your blood with adrenaline, and you're in the brink of fight or flight. Your body is barely under your control. You're consumed, and it scares you._ _"_

_-Sally Thorne, The Hating Game_

__

**The Fact Checkers**

_**Part One.** _

A dream is supposed to be cotton candy sweet, all blurred and soft at the edges. There's an endless source of blinding light that draws you toward it, beckoning yet gentle. It feels so real that you could get lost in it, stay forever. But it always ends before you're ready.

But this dream- the one that has Lucy Preston's eyelids fluttering in her deep state of sleep, is different. Because the traces of a nightmare have begun to seep in and no matter how hard she tries to wake up, she can't bring herself to break out of this. Instead, she has an almost dizzying need to see where this goes.

She's just stepped through to a window-lit office, the polar opposite of the fluorescent basement she spends her actual work days in. After scanning the room from top to floor, she makes her way over to the large oak desk.

On it is a stack of first editions, ready to be approved for shipping off to the press. Beside it, a worn leather journal with her monogram in the lower right corner. A journal she's never seen before yet familiar enough to elicit deja vu. On her desk is a nameplate, Dr. Lucy Preston, Editor. But when she squints at it, the word "co" slides into the left of the title so it suddenly reads "Co-Editor."

It's another mirage, she tells herself. She turns away from the desk, looking over to her left and finds a door- an adjoining door, it seems. She treads carefully toward it, each step barely making a sound. When her hand finds the brass ornate handle, she turns it with such precision that her breath is halted in her chest.

She steps inside, praying that she won't find what she thinks she'll find. Her eyes instinctively dart toward the desk straight ahead, finding it occupied just as she knew it would be. His dark hair is combed neatly and he has a light gray suit on. His signature smirk is visible despite the fact that he's in profile.

 _It's him._  Of course, it's him.

That's when she knows for certain this dream is tinged with terror.

Her legs have the urge to run, to flee, head straight out the window so she'll free fall from thirty stories high. That'll do the trick. You can't die in dreams.

Before she can make her escape, there's a creak of the floorboards underfoot and he's looking up. At her. Like he always is.

"Lucy." His green eyes spark with something like affection. Lucy's breath catches, under his kind gaze. "There you are."

His tone is so unfamiliar that her stomach dips. The softness of it draws her in closer.

"Garcia?" It comes out like a question. She never uses his first name.

He steps out from the desk, his foreboding figure looming over her diminutive five foot five frame. He's reaching out suddenly, pushing a stray hair away from her face. "Lucy."

The way he says it is so silky, she shuts her eyes. She's never this unguarded around him.

Surely this nightmare must end soon.

"Look at me, Lucy."

Her eyes fly open and she's so close to him now that she can see the vibrancy of his green eyes. She remembers thinking they were brown when she met him. He was so tall and had such dark hair and olive skin, she just assumed he'd have dark eyes.

But before her first day was over, she had worked out that they were an Atlantic shade of green and from then on, she could never quite look away from those oceanic eyes.

The exact shade of his eyes she wouldn't be able to name until later. Not until she visited Berkeley's Festival of Arts and saw a painting of a sea in Spain. The green of it- intermixed with blue waves and brown patches of sand, had reminded her so much of him then it stopped her in her tracks. She had forgotten her mother and sister behind her and walked, in a trance, toward the artist. She asked him where that beach was and he said Galicia, Spain.

Later that night, when she was back in the guest room at her mother's she had Googled it and marveled over the resemblance to his irises. Then, Lucy had promptly remonstrated herself for taking pleasure in a sight that reminded her of Garcia Flynn.

Now, she's staring at the sea again and with every blink of his eyes, she internally begs him to open them again.

As though forgetting who's in front of her, she leans into his touch and sighs. It makes him coil his hand around the back of her head, so softly, she thinks this might be a dream after all. Not a nightmare.

Her eyes still shut, she feels a press to her lips and finds her mouth paralyzed in surprise. But then, she lets go of her hesitation and sighs against his mouth. His lips part hers and she's sinking into the kiss, letting her own hands reach higher toward his upper back. Her full body is pressed into him now and she has the urge to push him back onto the desk.

Curling her fingertips into him, she feels the fine wool of his suit beneath her touch. Her mind wanders thinking of what it would be like to rip the fitted jacket off of him. Just as she's considering following her primal instinct to thrust him onto the desk, she remembers his identity.

Pulling away, she surveys him. She can't fight the question anymore. "Is this a nightmare? Is that why you're here? To torment me in my dreams?"

"That's not why I'm here." His gaze is steady and it all begins to feel like reality now.

"Why are you here?"

His mouth opens, the words will fall any second. He's on the cusp of enlightening her, maybe she will finally understand it all…

Lucy's eyes spring open and she's awake.

* * *

Lucy sits up in bed with the horrifying realization that she just had a dream, an almost R-rated dream, about Garcia Flynn.

Garcia Flynn- her arch nemesis, her tormentor, the bane of her existence.

She registers, with alarm, the faint disappointment reverberating in her chest that the dream had ended just when it had gotten good. She feels sick all over. The sweat on her skin is like guilt personified and she has the urge to go wash it off.

Her eyes trail over to the clock and find that it's four am. Too early to get up for work, too late to fall asleep properly.

Imagining where that dream might have gone if she hadn't woken up, her curiosity stirs. There was something so captivating about imagining something so forbidden with the person she hated most. It was so enticing, she almost wondered if she could summon the dream back to life. Deeper within was also a need to know what had incited the dream. Fearing she might have unacknowledged feelings for her greatest enemy, a chill creeps over her.

Her enemy- Flynn, who would be sitting at his desk three hours from now with a glare on his face and rigidity to his posture. The image sparks a new desire in Lucy. Shame has cleared her mind as she sinks back onto the sheets, reeling with the awareness she won't be able to look at him the same after all that ( _almost_ ) went on in her head.

Wishing she could reel the dream back in like a fishing line, she pictures herself cutting it off as soon before she spotted the adjoining door. She could have reveled in the fantasy of herself being the boss at The American Historical Review but  _no_ , he had to intrude on it.

Ever since yesterday's staff-wide meeting in which Denise Christopher, Editor-In-Chief, announced the opening for a new Associate Editor Lucy's mind had been discombobulated. The anticipation of finally moving up the latter made her jitter so much that she had shaky hands all afternoon.

She could see how much Flynn wanted it too. Her eyes had sliced through the room toward him as soon as the news was dealt and she could see the calculations in his brain. Mentally, he must have been confirming in numbers term that he had been at the company approximately two months longer than her and therefore would be technically more qualified. But she felt certain he forgot that she had a PhD, so that was something.

As his eyes met hers during the meeting, seeming to sense her gaze she had prickled. The smug look on his face confirmed that he already thought the job was his. She had seriously contemplated crawling across the conference table to knock the smirk off him. But then, the meeting concluded and she was left alone in her chair thinking about her hatred for Garcia Flynn.

Thinking of it at this moment, she knew there was no secret crush or hidden lust.  _Not when it came to Garcia Flynn._

When Lucy had returned post-meeting to their basement level dwelling- two opposing desks positioned no more than three feet from each other, Flynn was already working on his resume. Lucy had leaned over his computer and pointed to the list of skill sets. "You know for a fact checker, you certainly are bold to list such inaccuracies."

"Oh really?" He had turned then, a brow quirked- indulging her.

"Yes. I would add a few disclaimers if I were you." Lucy rattled them off, air quoting his listed traits. "'Active listener'-  _only when it's information that could be used for future revenge_. 'Takes initiative'-  _when said initiative will cause inflict pain- physical or emotional_. 'Open to unconventional tasks'-  _such as murder in the first degree._ "

"Harsh," Flynn placed a palm over his heart, as though he had been wounded. "If you'd like, we can trade resumes and edit one another's."

Lucy scoffed and pulled out her office chair. "Right, so you can study mine and glean even more information that'll give you an edge over me. Unlikely, Flynn."

"Oh!" He said quickly, as though he just thought of something brilliant. "I did think of one skill I'm forgetting... Patience when working with difficult co-workers."

Lucy rolled her desk chair slightly so she could eye him. "That's the best you got? You're getting rusty at this Flynn."

"This?" His eyes animated.

A glower in return was the best reply she could think of.

The rest of the afternoon she had tried to mentally define the aforementioned " _this_ " but came up blank. Conversational warfare didn't quite encompass it since so much of " _this_ " was nonverbal. Non-lethal combat also didn't work because well, sometimes she felt like the hatred pulsing in her veins might someday cause a fatal coronary embolism. So time would tell on that one and she wasn't about to jinx it.

But as of this very moment… Clearly, " _this_ " had morphed into something sexual or worse yet,  _romantic_  judging by that dream.

Lucy could already see the memory of him dream kissing her replaying just as she sat down at her desk. He, with his mind reader powers, would watch the reply too and tease her endlessly.

If the promotion opportunity hadn't just been announced she would probably call in sick. But tarnishing her perfect attendance record could hardly be done with a job on the line.

Rousing herself, she decides she might as well get up and start getting ready for the work day. At least she can beat Flynn into the office for once. Maybe she'll wear out the memory so that by the time he walks in the dream died, never to be resurrected.

One can hope, Lucy tells herself.

* * *

As Lucy's heels clack against the tiled floors, she stares at Flynn's occupied desk. Eyes trailing to the clock on the wall, she sees that she is indeed early yet he's still here first.  _How is that possible?_

"Did you sleep here?" Lucy accuses as she hangs her coat on the wall hook.

"It's already ten am on the East Coast, Lucia." He replies steadily. "So by their standards, you are late."

"We are in San Francisco which is decidedly on the West Coast and thus on Pacific Coast Time. Perhaps you should check a map." It's a weak comeback because her eyes momentarily flicked to his mouth when he called her by her incorrect name.

It's what he's called her ever since she met him. When he first said it, she had corrected him as politely as she could manage. "It's Lucy, actually."

"Right," He had said and she thought he might apologize for a split second. Then, his steely eyes locked on hers and he repeated it. "Lucia."

That was perhaps the very moment she started hating him.

Now, she pretends to busy herself with checking her planner, logging into her laptop, and checking her empty voicemail. After that charade only eats up five minutes, she glances at the clock and loathes herself for getting in early. Instead of spending her usual eight hours a day with Garcia Flynn she has nine to dread.

"Why so crestfallen, Lucia?" She nearly jumps out of her chair as she swivels to see him hovering over her desk.

He does this sometimes- strides the two feet between their desks as though he wasn't close enough before, and uses his height to intimidate her. Something about his looming silhouette makes her heart skip precisely one beat.

She pretends to not be thrown off by his sudden presence. "What do you want?"

Crossing her legs at the ankles, she looks up at him with an irritated expression.

"Did you finish your proposal?"

 _Oh that,_  Lucy thinks. An office-wide contest had been in the works for a while- one designed to get all employees excited about the semi-annual team building event. The contest will let an employee decide what this year's activity is- all they have to do is each submit a proposal including budget, time, scheduling, and highlights. Everyone gets to enter, even the IT guy.

So naturally, the pressure hanging overhead is high especially with Garcia Flynn competing. She could only imagine what he'd suggest... Probably target practice using the interns as their marks.

Her idea, she thought, was genius. A historical scavenger hunt throughout the city. Employees would be divided into teams and would navigate the city via cable car, hunting for clues. She even made up a sample list of objectives that she included in the proposal email. Perhaps, some of their scavenger hunt findings could even inspire future articles in the journal.

"I did." Lucy replies confidently. "Did you? I predict it'll be instantly rejected by HR for not only breaking company policy but also federal and state laws."

"You'll love it." He says confidently. "You have to admit, Lucia, I do make things fun."

He has his trademark smirk on and she spins in her chair a little, purposely kicking his shin with the point of her pump. She frowns down at the contact, as though it was an accident.

"Enjoy your 'fun' while it lasts, Flynn. Soon enough I'll be your boss and I'll make sure the last thing you're having is fun."

It's then that she thinks of the other experiences besides  _fun_ they could share, her dream making a reappearance. The purposeful way dream-Flynn had looked at her, reminded Lucy of the way he scowls down at her now.

Lucy stands suddenly, deciding she needs a reprieve from the intimacies of her mind.

Treading toward the stairwell, she hears him follow. She never takes the elevator and neither does he. She supposes it's because he must do everything she does, to keep the score even. "I might be going to jump off the rooftop right now. Do you really want to follow?"

The door clanks behind them and she whirls around to halt his tracks. He stares back cooly and sounds almost kind when he replies. "I'll talk you down."

"Sure you will." She scoffs, climbing the steps. "You'll push me off and claim it was an accident."

Shaking her head, she changes tactics. "I'm getting coffee."

"Me too."

Lucy opens the door to the main level, letting the door almost close on him. But his lengthy arm catches it before it slams, easily.

Inhaling the fresh air of the first level, she delights in the day she'll be out of the hellhole of the basement once she's an associate editor.

They stride in sync toward the kitchenette. "You'll miss me, Lucia."

He says it factually as she starts the coffee maker. She presses the button to brew one cup, not two, deciding he can make his own coffee. Leaning against the counter, she waits for it to start pouring out deliciously hot caffeine. The perfect remedy to this confounding day.

Flynn steps in front of her, folding his arms over his chest. He seems to be waiting for a reply.

"I might feel the occasional pang of pity for the fact that you'll be all alone in that basement with no one for company." Lucy admits, knowing it's the truth. She is humane after all.

Sometimes, she does see this very lonely, isolated expression cross his features when he thinks she's not looking. His eyes take on this haunted look and his mouth twists in a resemblance of regret.

During one of those mournful moments, he caught her staring. His eyes had landed on hers and there had been this sudden stunning moment of clarity between them. For that one split second, they understood each other- had become Lucy and Garcia rather than Lucia and Flynn.

It was the one single moment she felt like maybe they could be friends.

But then, he had blinked the softness away and the too familiar scowl had appeared on his face.

The coffee finishes brewing and he leans over to retrieve her filled mug. The motion makes him close enough that she can smell his aftershave and see the fine weave of his crisp silk shirt. When he hands her the mug, their fingers link for the briefest of moments.

Jittery from the contact, she steps away slightly to watch as he puts a clean mug beneath the machine and starts a new brew.

"You'll be the lonely one down in the basement." He says, glancing back at her. "Perhaps they'll promote one of the interns to Fact Checker so you'll have someone to catch your mistakes. I promise I'll come down to visit you every now and then. And someday, when I'm Editor I'll promote you- out of the goodness of my heart. In fact, maybe I'll make you my assistant. I can have you sit at a desk right across from mine, in my office."

"Will you really miss staring at me all day that much?"

He doesn't flinch. "I will."

"I bet every second you stare at me you think of a new way in which you could kill me." Lucy sips her coffee, feeling the burn of it on her tongue.

"You say that like you don't stare back." He challenges

Lucy tries not to falter. "I do stare back. Just to make sure the moment hasn't arrived when you finally snap and kis-"

He's tilted his head, clearly eager for her to finish her sentence. Except she can't because she almost just said  _kiss_ not kill. It's his fault, she tells herself. She saw the hint of his tongue running over his lip and then the 's' sound nearly slipped out rather than a hard 'l.' In fact, the 's' may have fallen just enough from her lips to cue him in.

Playing for time, she sets down her half drank coffee on the counter.

"Yes?" He motions for her to continue. "You were saying?"

Clearing her throat, she can barely meet her gaze as she tries to amend her slip-up. "Kill me."

Nodding, he takes a few final sips from his mug, sets it down on the counter, and then retreats from the kitchenette.

Following Flynn into the stairwell, Lucy stays a few paces behind. When they reach their floor, he pauses in front of the basement level door so that he's blocking it.

"Oh great," Lucy mimes terror. "You really have broken. You're going to kill me in this stairwell with its lack of security cameras and harsh fluorescent lighting so you can enjoy the gory sight of my brutal death."

He almost grins as he shakes his head.

"Well, just don't lock me in here as your torment method." Lucy swallows, serious now. "I'd rather go quickly."

"I want to know what you were really going to say." Flynn explains, his gaze intent.

"What?" Lucy bristles, pretending to not understand.

He points up. "Back there. You almost said something else."

"No, I didn't." Lucy says too quickly, making it clear she knows exactly what he's referring too. If there was a mirror in front of her, she could see the guilt written on her face.

"Ah," Flynn's lips turn upwards, the closest thing she's ever seen resembling a smile. "You're all flushed. What is it, Lucy?"

Her heart hammers as he uses her name, stepping closer. The action means the door is a little less blocked by his imposing figure. Her eyes dart toward the handle as she contemplates slipping past him to retreat to her desk.

"No." He reads her thoughts. "I will let you out once you tell me."

"You're holding me hostage?" Lucy asks, incredulously. "I'm more than positive that keeping your co-worker captive is a violation of the HR policy."

"You could leave." He offers. "If you're a coward."

"I don't even know what you're talking about, Flynn. Clearly, this promotion is messing with your head so you need to get it together." Deciding to turn it around on him, she prays this new tactic will be distracting enough to make him forget.

It doesn't work as he calls her bluff.

"You're the one with visibly shaking." He points to her hands which are clasped in front of her, trembling.

Her chest tightens and the room begins to shrink as she's caught.

She steadies her hand, willing oxygen to fill her lungs. She knows she's not actually trapped in here, she could climb back up to the first floor. Or she could even flee via the emergency door just three steps below her. She could sneak behind him and lock  _him_ in  _here_. But something about his riveted gaze that keeps her here.

Lucy dithers. "I was just contemplating the chances of you actually keeping me prisoner in here for the rest of the work day."

This seems to amuse him. "How long until you get Stockholm Syndrome, Lucia?"

"I already have it."

Lucy realizes her mistake instantly. The implication of that statement is stark, even to her own ears. She just meant that she already felt like a captive in his presence. Not that she has feelings for her pseudo-captor.

As an intrigued expression takes hold on his face, Lucy wavers and stumbles back toward the shallow steps that lead to the exit.

Just as her heel catches on the edge of the stair, Garcia's firm grip catches her by the waist. He hauls her to her feet, letting his palm rest gently on the small of her back as she rights herself. The contact makes her already tremulous heart rate stutter further.

"I meant-" She tries to correct her earlier statement but she's distracted by the feel of his hand.

_Why hasn't he dropped his hand?_

"Tell me what you were going to say." His voice is low and almost pleading.

She makes the mistake of glancing up into his green eyes, sending her stomach into a free fall. As a thousand hummingbirds dance in her solar plexus, her guard is lowered enough for her to confess.

"Kiss."

Flynn's gaze drops to her lips and she finds herself frozen. Somehow, impossibly so, her mind begs him to lean in and close the distance between them. Instead, he asks in a gravelly tone. "Is that what you want?"

Unbidden, her head bobs in a nod. Her mouth is captured by his in a rush and her own hand begins trailing toward his chest.

It's better than in her dream. But like her dream, she forgets who it is that she's kissing. Her lips tenderly skate over his, testing him. When he lets his other hand come up to her hair, she sinks into it. Her tongue teases over his lower lip and she waits until he parts them for her. Deepening the kiss, her chest heaves in relief.

As the sigh escapes her, he pulls back just a fraction and she feels him survey her- as though looking for rhyme or reason. But she doesn't allow it, tugging him back in by the lapels of his slim navy blazer. Her calves ache as she stretches up to the highest point of tiptoes that her patent pumps will allow.

Flynn kisses her this time more firmly and cups her cheek with his palm.

It's then, at the deep satisfaction of having his lips return to hers that it finally hits her.

She, Lucy Preston- Stanford graduate, doctorate decreed, all around good girl- Lucy Preston is kissing Garcia Flynn.

_Her worst enemy._

The universe sends her an additional reminder, as though his identity wasn't enough to make her get a hold of herself. A door further up the stairwell creaks open and they leap apart, as though electrified. Their gazes meet, equally guilty and equally awestruck. But then there's a footstep that seems to echo from above and she's reminded that they, the fact checkers, are at work. A promotion on the line. If they get caught, it'll all be over.

Lucy moves first, swerving around him to rush through the basement door. He follows, letting the door slam behind them. Whoever was in the stairwell certainly didn't get a chance to see them.

Once she's at her desk, her eyes stay fixed on the basement door but no one ever comes through. Realizing it was probably just someone sneaking off to take a call or check their Facebook, Lucy lets out a breath.

She tries to steady her hand as she mistypes her password three times. Finally logged in, she sees that it's nine thirty am. An ungodly hour to have just had a heated makeout session in the stairwell with her arch nemesis.

"Lucy."

Lucy ignores him, willing herself to focus on a new email that came in while her desk was vacant. It's laborious though, especially because he used her proper name.

" _Lucia_."

"What?" She hisses.

"We should discuss it." His tone is flat and factual.

"No. We should not." Lucy keeps her eyes trained on the screen. "In fact, I think we should just-"

"Should what?" He cuts her off. "Pretend it didn't happen? How tragically predictable, Lucia. I thought you were more original than that."

"I didn't  _say_ pretend it didn't happen."  _But I was going to,_  Lucy thinks.

"So then what were you going to say?"

"I was going to say-" She tries to think of something,  _anything_ , to stall. "That we should focus on work, for now."

She didn't plan on saying the 'for now' it just slipped out. But as her brown eyes flick over to him, she sees relief on his face which makes her strangely glad she said it.

"Okay."

And that's that.

The fact checkers go back to being fact checkers.

Until the clock strikes five.

* * *

He's standing in front of her desk holding out her purse and trench coat. As though he does this every evening. She feels as though she's fallen through a wormhole and landed in a parallel dimension where they are friends. Or even lovers.

"Time to go." Flynn declares.

"I'm finishing something up." Lucy's gaze stays aimed on the footnote she's typing.

"You've been here nine hours and didn't take a lunch break. You're the one breaking HR policy now." He reaches over and gently closes her laptop screen. "Lucy Preston doesn't procrastinate, so why start now?"

"Clearly you don't either." She stands and grudgingly accepts her offered coat.

It strikes her as strange, when he follows her into the stairwell, that he's never once asked her why she doesn't take the elevator. But she's also grateful to not have to explain her claustrophobia for once.

As they ascend the concrete steps to the main floor, the only sound is the echo of their synced footfall. He opens the door for her and she hesitantly steps forward to enter- half expecting it to be a trick. She waits for the cold contact of the swung shut heavy door.

It doesn't come.

Instead, he follows her out to the street and pauses on the sidewalk. "Did you take BART?"

Lucy nods. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"I'll drive you. It's a long walk to the station and it's windy." He puts his hand on her back again, guiding her down the street and around to the parking structure.

"No," She replies quickly, trying to turn around toward the station. "I- I like taking the train."

"We need to talk, remember?" The reminder brings a flush to her cheeks.  _The kiss_ , of course. Not like she had actually forgotten about it.

"We can talk tomorrow."

"You said you didn't want to break HR regulations." He continues leading her into the structure, now opening the door to the stairwell.

"Right, well, I mean- There's nothing to talk about really. I-  _We_ \- We both clearly got a bit carried away with our altercation and the tension got the better of both of us." She halts, even as he continues to hold the door open. The weight of it doesn't seem to bother his unwavering outstretched arm propping it open. "So there, we talked about it. Can I go now?"

"No." He beckons once more and somehow, that makes her cross through the door at last.

She trudges up the stairs as though headed toward the guillotine. "Which floor?"

"Fourth."

With each step, she silently curses herself for landing in this mess. If she hadn't had that dream, if she hadn't played into his games, if she hadn't admitted that she thought of him kissing her… Then she wouldn't be marching towards his car right now.

The idea of being in such a tight enclosed space with him only makes her tingle more. She tries to distract her nerves."What type of car do you drive?"

"A black SUV."

She could have guessed that.

The lot is empty save for the two of them and Lucy thinks of all the violent acts he could commit in this parking lot with no witnesses. Instead, her mind decides to think of the more intimate and hedonistic things he could do to her here in this very lot. A flush crawls over her skin at that and she's thankful he can't see her face from his stance a few paces back.

The 'beep beep' of his car unlocking rings out and he steps forward to open the passenger door for her. She hesitates before stepping up, reminding herself that it's her last chance to back out. But then, he's misinterpreting her delay as a height related dilemma and is guiding her into the vehicle.

At that moment, she realizes she's grown to like the feel of his hand on her back far too much. It makes her think of the other places his hand might feel good.

That image makes her close her eyes and when Flynn gets in, he doesn't start the car. She opens her eyes to see him staring at her in consternation. "What?"

"Are you…" He's frowning. "Alright?"

It's the first time he's ever asked her about her wellbeing- not in a sarcastic way and the shock of it makes her response come out sharp. "Yes. Drive."

"I need your address to do that. Unless you meant to my place. In which case I might remind you of the HR policies you're so intent of belatedly following."

"Ha-ha," Lucy barks sardonically before telling him her address. She'll probably come to regret giving Garcia Flynn her home address. She'll wake up in the middle of the night to him hovering over her bed, the same looming way he does at the office. Perhaps he'll even be armed.

What a mess her life is right now.

"You're not coming inside." She tells him, abruptly, from her perch in the passenger seat.

"I didn't ask to." He reminds her.

"But you were going to, weren't you?" It comes out knowingly rather than arrogantly.

He's silent for a moment. "Perhaps."

Resting her elbow against the door, she lets her head fall into her palm. Her mind tries to do a rewind to figure out how she got here- sitting in Garcia Flynn's car directing him to her house.

"So," He starts conversationally. "Why did you think about kissing me?"

She glances over at him and finds that his eyes are fixed on the road and there's a glint of interest shining brightly in his focused gaze. He's seriously curious, not just being cocky.

A mental debate ensues, deciding whether talking about the kiss will make it worse or better.

"Last night," She turns to look out the window, finding it easier to confess this with a diverted gaze. "I dreamt that you kissed me. That's why."

"Ah," Lucy watches his sage nod in the reflection of the glass window. "Is this a dream you have often?"

Looking over at him and discovering a smirk playing at his lips, she whacks him on the arm. "Of course, it's not."

"In your dream did we just kiss or-" Trailing off, he shifts in his seat.

"Just kiss." She enunciates. "I woke up after it happened. But in my dream, I had been promoted to Editor-In-Chief. Except, there was a caveat that you were co-editor with me. We had an adjoining office and I walked into yours and then you-" She gesticulates. "So yeah, apparently you torment me even in my dreams."

"So kissing me was tormenting?" He appears a bit wounded.

"No," She says quickly surprising both herself and him. "Not that it  _wasn't_ tormenting it just- it was-"

She fumbles for a neutral adjective. One that doesn't quite reveal how intoxicating she truly found it...

He answers for her. "Indescribable, apparently."

She can't refute it.

He motions toward the next street. "Turn here?"

She nods. "I'm up on the right."

When he pulls up, she contemplates whether she should invite him up. Her apartment is clean, no doubt, the maid hired by her mother always comes on Tuesdays. But Garcia Flynn in her apartment? That's too much for one day. She needs to assimilate the kiss first.

"I think BART would have been faster." Lucy remarks as the car slows to a stop along the curb.

Flynn replies sarcastically. " _Thank you, Garcia, for the ride. It was so gracious of you to drive to Nob Hill when you live in Ashbury Heights._ "

She mimics him, automatically. "Thank you, Garcia, for the ride-"

"Flynn." He corrects with a hint of amusement.

She huffs in annoyance and starts to open the car door. "Wait, you live in Ashbury Heights?"

"Yes." He drops his tone, cheekily. "Why? Thinking of paying a visit? I can text you my address."

She ignores his joke, shaking her head. Mostly, she had only asked because 1) she wanted to know how he afforded to live in that neighborhood on their measly salary and 2) if he lived in a Victorian because that was her dream.

"Goodbye, Garc- Flynn. See you tomorrow." Slipping out of the car a little awkwardly, she strides off in the direction of her apartment without turning back to look at him. Even though her mind begs her to.

She doesn't need to anyway- those piercing green eyes and their shared kiss will be locked in her memory until she's one hundred years old.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBC...
> 
> This story is inspired by The Hating Game by Sally Thorne. It's by far the best rendition of Enemies to Lovers I've ever read and I would highly recommend it. I tweaked the plot a bit to better suit Garcia and Lucy so I hope you all liked my take so far :) All credit for the concept goes to Sally Thorne.


	2. Part Two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So part two is rather lengthy so hope you've got some time on your hands... It's about to get real angsty in this fic. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> PS Sally Thorne, author of The Hating Game- aka inspiration for this fic, just released her new book today, 99 Percent Mine. Comment if you plan to read it so we can discuss it :)

_**Part Two** _

In the morning, Lucy slathers on all the eye cream known to man, trying to erase the traces of her sleepless night. She kept tossing and turning, trying to get the kiss out of her mind. None of the insomnia remedies she tried had worked- reading a dull book, listening to a sound machine set to rain, doing a gentle stretch routine, and even walking brisk laps through her tiny apartment. All had failed and she had been left with puffy eyes and a foggy brain.

By the end of her makeup routine- doubled in both time and quantity of product used, she looks considerably less exhausted. Though she doesn’t feel it. As she makes her coffee, she tries to convince herself she didn’t just put in all that effort for the sake of Flynn. It was only so she would look presentable, especially given that she was under consideration for promotion.

Really, Lucy couldn’t care less if Flynn thought she looked tired. It’s not like she wanted to look kiss-worthy again.

Her stomach grumbles at that thought and she sees to making some toast.

When she gets into the office, or rather the dungeon, she finds that all is normal. Flynn’s eyes briefly flick over to Lucy, as though surveying her, and then he scribbles in his planner. He barely looks up as he addresses her, “Good morning.”

“Hi.” Lucy manages.

She logs in to her computer and goes about her normal routine without interacting with him. Until ten am when he gets up from his desk, goes over to the elevator, and doesn’t come back down to the basement for a whole thirty minutes. When he comes back, he’s armed with two mugs of coffee and Lucy is left mystified. Even the busiest hour of the kitchenette couldn’t make it take a whole half hour to produce that.

He sets a mug in front of her and she eyes it warily. “What did you lace this with?”

This is not a usual occurrence. She and Flynn don’t bring each other coffees and certainly not in flowery mugs with pink edging. There’s got to be a catch.

“One cube of sugar and a tiny splash of cream. Just like you like it.” His face is a mask of innocence.

Her eyes narrow at him and she scans him. “I meant which poisons. I presume you’re trying to take out your competition the medieval way.”

Shaking his head, he mutters some grievance. Then, he picks up her mug and takes a sip, setting it back down on her desk. He gestures to himself. “See, still breathing.”

He sinks into his own desk chair and sets about his work. Lucy stares at the mug, wondering if he now expects her to drink from the very cup of coffee he just drank from. Then, she remembers that his tongue was in her mouth yesterday so this is a moot point.

Picking it up by the handle, she takes a cautious sip, waiting for her breathing to stop or for a constricting feeling in her throat to take hold.

It doesn’t.

At three pm, an email cc’ed to all employees goes out announcing the winner of the team-building contest. She holds her breath as she clicks it open and then hears Flynn wish her good luck. It doesn’t sound sarcastic and her eyes flick away from the screen to him.

When her eyes return to the screen she sees the following heart-wrenching words:

> _Garcia Flynn._   
>  **_Escape Room._ **   
>  _Teams._   
>  _By department._

_No. no. no._

Escape room? This can’t be happening. She’ll refuse to participate, she can’t participate. If she partakes in the escape room she will definitely have a panic attack, if not a total mental breakdown. She’ll end up in a sanitorium. Because the last time she was stuck somewhere with Garcia Flynn she definitely lost her sanity. The time before that in which she was stuck, she nearly died.

“I thought you’d be a better sport about losing than that.” Flynn misinterprets her rising dread as poor sportsmanship and glides in his desk chair over to observe her. “Don’t worry, Lucia. We’ll be on a team. I made sure of that.”

That makes her feel sick all over again. He’s probably plotting to murder her in the closed off escape room. Their department is just the two of them in this miniscule company of twenty-two employees. Plus, there’s no way Denise and the managing editor, Anthony, will compete in this so that leaves twenty. Plenty of people to divide up into teams sans the two lowly fact checkers. Unless they lump them in with the interns.

Either way, none of those personas exactly make Lucy feel calmer about this situation.

She draws in a deep breath, willing her fear to idle deep beneath her surface so Flynn can’t sense it. “Congratulations. I’m sure this will help your chances for the promotion.”

He leans back slightly in his chair, watching her. “We’ll win, Lucy. It’ll help both of our chances. I think we’ll make a good team.”

With initial skepticism, she discovers that he’s being completely serious and she doesn’t know whether to feel worse or better. So she just stands up and heads for the stairwell to catch her breath again.

* * *

 

Flynn offers to give Lucy a ride home again on Wednesday but she declines, citing an errand to run on her way home. He looks mildly disappointed but she doesn’t give it much consideration on her way to the station. She needs to get home STAT to Google techniques for conquering claustrophobia in forty-eight hours.

Everything is on the internet these days. So there’s got to be a quick guide for that, right?

Wishing she would have followed her mother’s advice to see a psychologist after the accident, she finds that Googling claustrophobia is more daunting than experiencing it. Most articles just suggest seeing a professional which Lucy would have, had she known this situation would arise.

Avoiding elevators, driving, and enclosed spaces had been easy enough for the past three years. She called that management. But she should have known better than to think it could be so simple.

Knowing she could opt out, she prickles at the thought of being passed up for the Associate Editor position all because her minor psychological condition stood in the way of a simple team-building exercise. Any professional worth their salt would tell Lucy sitting it out was understandable and probably remind her that it takes time to overcome phobias.

But she didn’t have time. Or a professional to consult.

Instead, she followed all the other doable management strategies she could find online. Both Wednesday and Thursday evening were spent trying to engrain visualization techniques, deep breathing routines, and positive self-talk into her brain to prepare her for Friday.

It was all so engrossing that she completely forgot about the dilemma of earlier this week- the kiss with Garcia Flynn, and tuned him out for the rest of the week.

Until Friday rolled around.

* * *

Sure enough, they were thrown onto a team with the two interns, Mark- Denise’s son, and Sophie- a college history major that Lucy did rather like. Arriving at the Escape Room, Lucy discovers that it looks eerily like the hotel HH Holmes used to lure in his victims in a documentary she once watched. The floral-papered walls have rough edges and slight weathering, the oak furniture is dinged in some places, and the hardwood floors look scuffed. It makes Lucy’s skin moisten with dread.

Denise quickly explains that the staff will be divided into 5 teams of four and meet up in the lobby once they have completed the course. Each team will have a leader and will work together to solve the clues and put together an escape route. Whichever team completes the task the fastest will be awarded eight hours paid time off, each.

Lucy’s hands clasp and unclasp nervously as she stands listening to the directions.

“You really want to win, huh?” Flynn surmises incorrectly.

She turns to look at him, properly noticing him for the first time today. She had been so lost in her own anxiety she had barely even glanced at him. Now, she finds that he’s wearing an olive sweater which makes his eyes look more green than blue, dark jeans with faint fading at the edges and black combat boots that she thinks she saw in a Frye Company catalog once.

“No suit?” She asks, contemplating whether she finds the whole suave businessman look more appealing than this Mission Impossible-esque get-up.

“No.” He looks down at her. “We might have to get a little dirty to get out of here. I wasn’t about to ruin my three-piece Brooks Brothers today.”

The latter, Lucy decides, is definitely sexier. Especially when he says things like that. After her eyes trail over him thoroughly, she wonders if her sudden draw to him might be enough to distract her from her claustrophobia.

“I like your shirt.” He points to her faded white tee. It’s adorned with a graphic of a dagger and faint script surrounding it. In giant block letters it reads, _Juliet and The Shakespeares._

“Oh,” She blushes after glancing down. “Thanks.”

“I’ve never heard of that band.”

She was hoping he wouldn’t probe further, but now that he has…

“I was in a band in college. Our drummer was a graphic design major and made these.” She tries to shrug it off.

“Lucy Preston was in a band?” His eyes spark and she can tell he wants to ask more but before he can, Denise’s loud boom breaks their conversation.

“And go!”

Mark and Sophie make their way toward Flynn and Lucy, Mark speaking up first. “What’s the plan, guys? Who’s the leader? We think it should be one of you two since- you know, we’re just the interns.”

“You aren’t just the interns,” Lucy says graciously but Flynn shoots her a look that says to be quiet.

“Lucy, would you like to lead us?”

She shakes her head quickly and Flynn eyes her curiously. She knows why, it’s not like him to gift her this opportunity and she’s essentially just turned down yet another one of his peace offerings this week.

“You know more about this sort of thing. You do it.” She says by way of explanation.

Flynn agrees and then steps up to the gamemaster to be directed toward their assigned portion of the course. They are led into what resembles a living room, adorned with portraits on the wall and a brick fireplace. Suddenly, A door closes from somewhere behind them and they are locked in.

The first bubbles of anxiety rise in Lucy’s chest as she looks at the firmly shut door behind them. On the table in the middle of the room is a flyer with a hot air balloon and ferris wheel in the center. Emblazoned above is the title, World’s Columbian Exposition.

Lucy feels a light bulb go off in her brain. “It’s 1893. The World’s Fair in Chicago. I know all about this.”

Flynn walks over to her, scanning the flyer. “Well done, Lucy. Now what?”

“Now we search for clues, I would guess things relevant to the fair.” She rattles off some of the inventions displayed at the expo and assigns them all to open every drawer in the room, search behind each painting, and check under couch cushions for objects of use.

A few minutes later, Mark shouts that he’s found something. Behind the photo of the life-size replications of the Nina, the Pinta, and the Santa Maria is a tiny key taped onto the back. Mark rips it off with a flourish and asks, “Do you think it unlocks the door?”

Flynn shakes his head, “Too easy. This is supposed to take at least thirty minutes. I’m sure this is just the beginning.”

Lucy feels a tiny swell of disappointment. As the key was revealed she too thought that might be the end of this.

Sophie pipes up, “One of the desk drawers was locked, see if it fits in there.”

Mark nods and makes his way to the corner of the room, taking the key with him. He has a purposeful set to his stride and Lucy can tell he wants desperately to impress Sophie.

Trying the key, he shakes his head that no, it does not fit.

Flynn meanwhile has made his way over to the fireplace and is surveying the objects on the mantle. He picks up a clock and looks at the back, gesturing for Mark to come over. Lucy follows too and watches as Flynn points to a microscopic keyhole and then holds her breath as Mark slides it in. With a twist, the back of the clock opens to a baseball-themed spinner that in the center says, “To make the game more interesting, eat Cracker Jack. The more you eat, the more you want.”

“Cracker Jack didn’t start putting in prizes until 1912 but it did first debut at the Word Fair.” Lucy comments. “Did anyone see a box of Cracker Jack while they were searching?”

Sophie nods. “In one of the desk drawers.”

“Did you look inside it?” Flynn asks.

“No, I thought it was trash.” She says, abashed.

Lucy and Flynn exchange an exasperated look and make their way back to the desk. Finding the Cracker Jack box, Flynn rips it open to reveal a bunch of caramel covered popcorn. He dumps it out onto the desk and then a key falls out. He pockets it and then addresses the group. “What do we think this fits into?”

“The door?” Mark asks again but this time Lucy knows better than to feel hopeful.

“I think we haven’t found it yet.” Lucy remarks, letting herself get wrapped up enough in the mystery to not be frightened of the fact that she’s now been trapped for fifteen minutes.

“Lucy, you know a lot about this era so you check the bookshelf. Start skimming the titles and search the copies that could be relevant. Mark and Sophie, keep pulling the photos and paintings down.” Flynn instructs while checking under the coffee table.

While pulling books out, Lucy stumbles a little and braces herself on the bookshelf. Flynn starts to chuckle but then grows serious. “Wait, Lucy... The bookshelf moved when you did that.”

He strides over to her and starts shaking the bookcase, eventually sliding it to the right to reveal a trap door. It’s small and rectangular, they’d have to duck to get through it. She prickles as she surveys it.

“Oh my god!” Sophie squeals. “You found the exit!”

Rushing forward, Sophie tries to open the wood door but the knob won’t turn. Flynn inserts the key and it opens. Mark and Sophie rush through it so fast, they’re gone without Lucy even noticing.

Instead, she’s standing there fidgeting as she notices that no light is escaping from the opened trap door. Which means it’s dark, inside, cold- just like her car trapped beneath the surface of the lake. Bubbles pooling around her, water spilling into her lungs...

She slowly retreats, backward until she’s far away from it. Her nails dig into her palms as she curls her fingertips, anxiously.

“Lucia, I think that’s our cue.” He is beckoning her to crawl through the door but she’s shaking her head.

She doesn’t know how much time passes because her head is a whirl and her vision is starting to blur. It’s seconds, maybe minutes before Flynn finally realizes something is wrong. “Lucy, what is it?”

“I can’t go through there.” She chokes out. “Can you just- Can you go through and then open that door for me from the outside?” She points to the entrance which they came through.

“We’ll lose.” He remarks, flatly.

“Have them just disqualify me so it won’t count against you and the interns.”

“Why?” He’s peering at her. “You love to win. Why would you want that? Lucy, we just crawl through the door and will be back at the start. It’s easy. I don’t understand.”

“I don’t like small spaces.” She manages, clenching her fists once more. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, she wonders if she’s drawn blood yet.

“Ah,” Understanding crosses his features. She must still look composed enough though for him to have faith in her ability. His voice is soft and gentle as he says, “Come on, take my hand and I’ll lead us through. I promise it’ll be quick.”

Flynn’s palm wraps around her closed hand, uncurling her fingers until they are linked with his. His green eyes gaze into her watery brown ones waiting for her to nod. Somehow, she does.

When she ducks down to crawl inside, she squeezes her eyes shut, letting Flynn’s grip guide her instead. But since she’s not looking, she doesn’t feel the lace of her sneaker get caught on the trap door and she’s stuck as she tries to progress further. She looks back seeing it caught in the hinge of the door and gives it a firm tug toward herself.

The shoelace is freed but it swings the door shut along with it.

_They’re trapped._

It’s no higher than four feet in here and no wider than two.

Lucy’s breath constricts as the dark swarms her. Flynn’s soothing guidance from before has fled her brain and she feels the panic rise all over again.

“Lucy, come on. It’s okay, the exit is this way.”

She hears Flynn’s voice but can’t quite register what he’s saying. Everything sounds muffled like she’s underwater once more. Her eyes don’t adjust to the dark but it doesn’t matter anyway since she’s positive her vision would be blurred.

Lucy remains paralyzed in place until Flynn delicately pulls her forward. In a daze, she reaches the exit of the hidden tunnel with him trailing behind her. He encourages her to open the door, so she reaches out and clasps the knob.

_It doesn’t open._

“You said this was the exit.” Lucy accuses, near hyperventilation now.

“I know, I know.” She hears him curse. He crawls up so he’s wedged beside her and he feels around.

“There’s a keypad to unlock the door,” He explains. “I just have to work out the code. If Mark and Sophie could, then we can too. Lucy, you know this better than I do. What would it be?”  
  
She sits properly now, drawing her knees into her chest and folding her arms around herself. Fully hyperventilating now, all of Flynn’s words are lost in the suffocating air. “I can’t. I can’t.”

It’s all she can say.

“Lucy,” From somewhere right in front of her, is a whisper. A plea. Hands encircle her and gently rub her back. “Breathe, Lucy. There are vents in here, okay? I can see them right by our feet. There’s plenty of oxygen and that door will open. But for now, you need to breathe and stay calm. I promise, I will get us out of here.”

He keeps talking in that same steady way. It’s a lifeline.

“Deep breath in,” She tries to follow his instruction, air only halfway filling her lungs.

“Out through your mouth.” His hand smooths over her back once more.

His calm instruction repeats over and over again until she’s not hyperventilating anymore. “Put your head between your knees and keep breathing deeply. I am going to be right here, working out the code. Okay?”

Somehow, she finds it in her to nod and then his hands are removed from her. Her chest tightness again from the loss of his touch. But still, she follows his instructions and tucks her head between her knees, taking in breath after breath.

A beep sounds and light floods the tight space.

A hand reaches for her and she has to blink to adjust to the new sudden brightness. Flynn pulls her out, careful not to let her bump her head and at once, they’re in a hallway. A wide hallway with plenty of air, plenty of light, plenty of space.

Lucy exhales sharply, still trembling and feels the first wash of embarrassment.

Flynn does not notice her growing shame and puts both his palms on her shoulders. His eyes are bright and there’s a smile on his face as he proudly enthuses, “You did it.”

“You did it.” She corrects, squeezing her eyes shut. “Not me.”

“The code was 1893. I only knew that because of you. Lucy, look at me.” Flynn’s finger tilts her chin up and she reluctantly opens her eyes to see his apologetic face. “I’m so sorry.”

She frowns. “Why are you sorry? I’m the one that just freaked out like a total psycho.”

“No,” Flynn shakes his head fervently. “Lucy. I- This is all my fault. And don’t call yourself that.”

Her anxiety settling a little, she’s now able to register that he’s the one who looks panicked. While her fingers still tremble, he seems to keep licking his lip nervously. He glances over his shoulder and she follows his gaze to see that just beyond the windowed door ahead is the lobby. About a handful of employees are chatting animatedly, probably doing play-by-plays of their own escape routes. She can’t face them. Not yet.

“I had no idea.” He’s still saying. “I shouldn’t have suggested this as the group activity. I feel so bad, Lucy. Are you alright? Will you be okay? I can tell them that you need a break and to rest in here.”

“No!” She says quickly. The last thing she wants is for everyone else to find out about her meltdown. “Please don’t.”

“I’ll tell them it’s dehydration.” He offers. “I’ll go get you water. Here, sit.”

Flynn guides her over to the cushioned bench against the wall and she plops down without protestation.

“I’ll be right back.”

Bringing her feet to rest on the bench, Lucy buries her head in her hands and rests her elbows on her knees.

Lucy tries to reconcile the fact that she just had a panic attack in front of her nemesis. Well, not nemesis as of late but still her rival. She will never live this down.

Fresh waves of a new panic attack are imminent, she can feel it.

Before it can hit her in full, a door creaks open and she feels his presence before her. Looking up, she finds him handing her a plastic cup of water.

Drinking it quickly, the cool hydration helps her head clear. He sits beside her, leaving a gap between them. “Why didn’t you tell me that you are claustrophobic? You could have told Denise, at least. You didn’t have to do this.”

“Yes, I did.” She counters, automatically. “Who would promote the girl who can’t even handle a simple obstacle course?”

“Claustrophobia is a serious condition, Lucy.” He replies in a factual tone. “No one would have judged you.”

“You would have.” Lucy remarks, dully.

“No, I would not.” He’s defensive.

“You’d use it against me.” She rebukes. “In the interviews- to get the promotion. You still might.”

“You really think I’d do that?”

She feels his gaze on her and when she turns to face him, he looks hurt.

Softening a little, she replies honestly. “I don’t know.”

“I thought you knew me better than that by now.” With a deep sigh, he stands and walks back out the door to the lobby.

Lucy finishes the last of her water, dropping the empty cup into the bin by the door before stepping through it. When she gets out there, Denise is looking at her with concern. “Lucy, are you alright? Garcia told us you got a bit dizzy.”

“I was lightheaded, it was nothing.” She brushes off her boss’s concern.

She tries to look at Flynn from where he stands behind Denise but he won’t meet her gaze.

_She’s messed up._

He was kind and patient, even helping talk her through her panic attack and she accused him of being cutthroat and heartless enough to use it against her for a promotion. She thinks of him softly saying her name, Lucy, and linking her hand through his.

Then, she thinks of the relief on his face when she let him drive her home the day of the kiss.

The slight smile he wore when she drank the coffee he brought her on Wednesday.

All along, he’s been trying to convince her of something. She just doesn’t know what yet.

And now, she’s broken whatever was building.

The graphic design team is awarded the time-off prize and they’re all sent to enjoy their weekends at the early hour of two pm. Flynn is still ignoring her so Lucy makes her way toward the station after a quick goodbye to Mark and Olivia, who mention something about going to eat together.

She makes it halfway down the block when he calls her name. “Lucy.”

It’s flat and so apathetic, she’s pretty sure he wouldn’t call out to her again if she kept walking. But something makes her turn around, instead.

Spinning around, she meets his gaze with a blank expression. “What?”

He looks exasperated as waits for her to make her way toward him. He holds out his key, a clear gesture he will drive her home and grudgingly, she follows him to his car. She doesn’t get why he’ll ignore her but still give her a ride home. But she’s too curious not to find out.

Besides, she’s never really understood him so why would that change now?

It’s stonily quiet as they both climb into the car and neither of them says a word. She doesn’t quite know where to begin an apology to him. Instead, she stares out the window wishing she could rewind time.

When they hit a red light, he finally breaks the silence.

“Tell me about the band.”

Deciding talking about her embarrassing, brief stint as a musician is better than stretching their Cold War out any longer, she obliges him. “I sang. We had a retro sound, I hope, in hindsight, it was probably just pretty pop-y. We weren’t very good.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.” His tone sounds truthful rather than flattering.

“We had a song called _Last Ride of Bonnie and Clyde_ all about their romance, rise, and then fall. I thought it was the most clever thing ever written.” She shakes her head. “Trust me, I have reread those lyrics and they are terrible.”

“You wrote the songs?” He glances at her with a glint to his eye.

She nods.

“A woman of many hidden talents… Why did the band break up?”

This is where she falters. “Uh- I- It was my fault. I broke up the band, I guess.”

He waits for her to elaborate. She supposes he does deserve to know after witnessing today’s related panic attack. So with a sigh, she begins the tale.

“I went home one weekend to visit my mom and sister during winter break. I only stayed for one night since I wanted to do a show the next night with the band. I remember, my mom and sister kept insisting I stay longer. I didn’t have school or anything other than the band keeping me on the empty campus over break but I insisted that I couldn’t miss the show. My mom and I got into a huge fight over it, she told me I was wasting my time on the band and that it would never go anywhere. Plus, a bunch of other stuff about how I was meant to follow in her footsteps. Eventually, I stormed out and I drove off, still furious with her.”

She pauses, drawing in a breath. “As I passed by the lake, my car hit a patch of ice and skidded off the road. The car careened into the lake and I almost drowned.” She twists her shaky hands in her lap and abbreviates the rest. “I took it as a sign that my mom was right and the band was bad for me.”

Flynn’s car stops, hitting a red, and she feels his gaze on her. “How did you get out? Of the car underwater?”

“I didn’t. Not on my own.” She can still feel the rush of water, the filling of her lungs, even now. “I just remember being trapped- my seatbelt was stuck. I vaguely recall water rushing into my chest. It all went black, after that. The doctors told me that a car a ways behind me had seen mine go off the road and they had pulled over. The man, a retired firefighter, had jumped in and pulled me from the vehicle. He administered CPR and saved my life, I guess.”

After a moment of silence, he asks the question. “Is that when the claustrophobia started?”

She nods and he seems to understand her better now.

He’s almost to her apartment when he speaks again. “I thought I knew you so well, Lucy. From sitting there across from you day after day, month after month. Sometimes I even thought I knew you better than you knew yourself. But now,” He trails off briefly. “I realize I don’t know you at all.”

Lucy doesn’t know what to say.

His SUV pulls up in front of her building and he asks, “Will you be okay?”

Nodding bravely, she’s about to tell him yes when she spontaneously says, “You could come inside. For a bit. I could show you the photos of me and my band. You could get to know me better and I could-”

Get to know you.

It’s on the tip of her tongue but she can’t quite confess it because she doesn’t know why she wants to.

“I could hear an embarrassing story about you. As a trade.” She amends.

After a moment’s contemplation, he puts the car in park and bobs his head in acquiescence. “Are there any videos of _Juliet and the Shakespeares_ playing?”

“Not that I’m going to show you.” She chuckles, jangling her keys. “Besides you wouldn’t be able to handle having that much dirt on me.”

She notices that he’s scowling again as she unlocks the building door with a fob. “Why do you always think I’m gathering intel on you for nefarious purposes, Lucy? Can’t I just want to know you for the sake of knowing you?”

His words make her chest tighten as she’s reminded of her dream.

> _Why are you here?_

She wants to ask him why now, why does he want to know her if not to scheme against her? It’s confusing and oddly pleasing that he does.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Lucy says apologetically.

They enter the stairwell and she’s grateful he doesn’t bring up the elevator avoidance and claustrophobia connection. He certainly must have deduced it by now.

Climbing the five flights of stairs, she mentally chides herself for misspeaking again. At this point, she needs a manual. How to Make Friends and Influence People: Garcia Flynn Edition.

Perhaps she should start by calling him by his first name, she muses. He has been calling her Lucy, after all.

She feels self-conscious as she lets him into her lackluster apartment. It’s clean and tidy but void of personality. The most revealing object in the whole place is her bookshelf which houses the only items of sentimental value.

The grey walls are bare save for a framed photo of her and Amy plus a painting of the construction of the Golden Gate Bridge. Flynn walks over to the photo and points, a question in his eyes.

“Amy, my younger sister.” Lucy explains. “She’s 25 and lives in LA. She works at a radio station and records podcasts in her spare time.”

“You two are close?”

“Very.”

He smiles slightly and then walks over to the bookcase. He picks up a copy of A History of San Francisco 1850 - 1950. He flashes it at her, pointing to her name below her mother’s on the cover. “You wrote a book?”

“Co-wrote.” She corrects, striding over to him. “With my mother.”

“I’ll have to pick up a copy.” He remarks cheekily. “A Preston original, how could I have not known? What does your mother do?” He asks, suddenly.

“She was a professor.”

“Was?” The teasing crinkle in the corners of his eyes have disappeared, knowingly.

“She died from lung cancer a year and a half ago.” Lucy notes how much easier it is to say that now that time has passed. Her heart still aches faintly, though.

Frowning, he seems to do a mental calculation. “Shortly before you came to work at the Review?”

Lucy nods and makes her way into the kitchen. “Do you want tea or coffee?”

As she waits for his reply, she thinks about how peculiar it is that she’s even offering Garcia Flynn tea or coffee, in her home.

“Sure, coffee would be great.” He’s walking back into the kitchen and it looks like there’s a hint of regret on his face. “You were grieving and you got stuck with me for a coworker. Irony is cruel.”

She doesn’t get it but nods anyway. “You still haven’t told me one single thing about you. Tell me something I don’t already know.”

“I can speak five languages.”

She leans against the counter, mock irritation on her face. “Something embarrassing. Not impressive.”

“So you find that impressive?” He steps closer and she feels a sensation strikingly similar to the one she felt when he kissed her.

“Depends on which languages.” She lies. “And if it’s even true.”

She gestures for him to prove it.

“Predivna si.” He says flatly as he steps closer, enough that now only a mere foot is between them.

“What does that mean? And what language is it?” She’d be willing to bet he just told her he hates her in some foreign language. She makes a mental note to translate the phrase on the internet later.

“I said the sky is beautiful in Croatian.” He then elaborates. “I was born in Croatia and spent much of my childhood there.”

Lucy is skeptical. “You can say that whole sentence in two words in Croatian? I don’t buy it. I bet you just told me you hate me. And by the way, the Croatia thing explains the slight accent. I always wondered. I even Googled you once but you’re untraceable online.”

Once is an understatement, but he doesn’t need to know that.

He laughs and she’s mesmerized by the smile she never sees. His eyes are lit up with amusement and they crinkle in the corners in a way that makes her heartbeat falter.

“Go on,” She gestures. “Prove these other supposed languages you speak.”

“El café está listo pero,” He switches languages easily. “J’ai envie de t’embrasser-”

Before he can switch languages again, Lucy steps forward and kisses him. Her tiptoes stretch her up fast enough to capture his lips before he will be able to register what she’s doing. But then, his hand encircles her waist and he kisses her back.

He pulls back slightly a moment later, gazing at her quizzically. A question in his eyes.

She smiles. “I took French in high school. And college.”

“Cheater,” He smirks.

“I never said I wouldn’t be able to understand you.” Lucy leans back against the counter. “Also I know enough Spanish to get the gist of the first part.” She turns and pours the coffee into two clean mugs left on the drying rack by the maid.

Handing him his coffee, she looks down at her mug shyly. “What was the other language?”

“Czech.”

“You have hidden talents too.” She surmises.

He seems reminded of something. “Where are these band photos I was promised?”

She sighs, regretting her offer. Sulkily, she leads him into the living room and gestures for him to sit. Feeling ancient, she pulls out a hat box from the bookcase and retrieves some glossy photos from it. Luckily, he’s close enough in age, given that he’s older, not to have expected an iPhone slideshow. But she knows Amy would have remarked about how Lucy should really have these digitized.

As though she’d want these embarrassing relics even more accessible.

“Tell anyone about these at work and I’ll tell them all about how you spent your Friday afternoon speaking romantic phrases to me in my kitchen.” She threatens, teasingly. “That’ll ruin your image, I imagine.”

Flynn laughs and takes the photos from her. “Deal.”

She can’t bring herself to watch him flip through them so she sips her coffee instead. She hears him remark, “You were such a rebel. I love it.”

The word love illuminates her heart and her head and she can barely focus on the rest of his sentence. “This is not the Lucy Preston I know.”

“It’s not.” She agrees a little solemnly.

“But I feel like I’m getting to know that Lucy Preston.” He gently touches her arm for reassurance. “Aren’t I?”

Smiling at him, she nods. “You are.”

He sets the photos down on the table and she wonders if he’ll kiss her now. It’s what she wants at least. Ever since that day in the stairwell, an addiction seems to have formed.

Gone is the hatred she felt for him, here to stay is some strange fascination with him. In fact, she regrets interrupting him earlier with a kiss because now she speculates over what he might have said after declaring in French that he wanted to kiss her.

Damn the impulsiveness he inspires in her.  
  
“Are you feeling better?” He asks suddenly, shreds of regret in his features.

“Much.” She replies honestly, noting that after a panic attack she’s usually still shaky until the next morning. Something about him calms her in a way she wouldn’t have expected.

“I’m so sorry, Lucy.” His palm still on her forearm, he tightens his grip, delicately. Then, he retrieves his hand. “I still feel terrible.”

Her eyes fall to where her arm has gone cold, in the absence of his touch.

“Don’t. Garcia,” She watches his surprised look at his first name falling from her lips. Even though she’s used it a couple of times now, it still even catches her off guard. “I don’t blame you. It’s my fault for not dealing with it sooner. I need to eventually, it’s so ridiculous that I don’t even drive because of that accident.”

“I didn’t put that together.” He admits.

“Yeah,” She shrugs. “The train helps me avoid traffic though and I can get work done while I commute so it’s sort of not a total loss. But I should try to get back on the road eventually. My car, a new one because the old one was totaled, just sits in the garage at our old house back in Berkeley. Who knows if it even still works.”

“Making adjustments after a trauma is understandable, essential to coping really.” She nods along to his sage observation.

“Your turn.” She elaborates. “To tell me something else about you.”

She leans back against the couch and waits.

“Do you want something serious or something amusing? Like you and the band or what you told me about your mother?”

“Something no one else at the Review knows about you.” Lucy decides.

“Okay.”

He’s silent for so long that Lucy thinks he’s changed his mind. Looking over at him, she instead finds a sag to his shoulders and a hesitation across his face. At last, he speaks. “My wife died five years ago. It was my fault. I did some digging at the NSA, that I shouldn’t have done and it got her killed.”

Her head reels and she sits up, whirling so her legs are crisscrossed facing him. There are so many things she wants to ask. She didn’t even know he had been married let alone worked for the NSA. But instead, as a good friend would, she just says, “It couldn’t have been your fault.”

“It’s been a long time now, Lucy. I’ve had time to accept my responsibility and to learn to cope with it. But I’ll never believe that it wasn’t my fault. I spent two years working to get the bastards responsible put behind bars and then gave my notice, leaving that life behind. I moved here from DC, got my BA in History, and started at The American Historical Review.”

“Garcia,” She lets out an exhale and reaches out to him, letting her palm come to rest on his back. She leans her head against his shoulder, “I’m so sorry. That’s so awful and unfair.”

“That is life, no?” He asks. “It sounds like it hasn’t always been fair to you either.”

“I know but-” She shakes her head, unable to fathom what he went through.

Suddenly, everything about him makes sense.

The understanding hits her with such clarity that she’s transported back to the beginning.

* * *

_**A year and three months ago.** _

Lucy has somehow convinced herself to follow her new boss, Denise Christopher, into the elevators. She forces herself to be numb as it descends one floor to the basement level. Denise doesn’t notice her growing anxiety and keeps rattling on about the ‘temporary location of her desk.’ Something about the third level being renovated and her and the other fact checker eventually being moved upstairs.

Lucy exhales in relief as the doors slide open. Denise leads her over to the two parallel desks in the middle of the room. Both are unoccupied and she gestures for Lucy to take the empty one. After nodding along to the rest of Denise’s first-day orientation, she’s eventually left alone to her new workspace.

Twenty minutes later, as she’s unpacking her office supplies and organizing them into the empty desk drawer the elevator doors ping. She waits with trepidation to see what her new office mate will be like. She hopes it’s someone bright and cheery who can make her forget about her lackluster dwellings. And about the loss of her mother...

He takes one step out of the elevator and she knows that’s not what she’s getting.

As she stands up, waiting for him to reach her she’s filled with a sensation she can’t quite identify but decides to label as dread. Despite the sinking feeling, she presses on and sticks out her hand sporting a megawatt smile. “Hi, I’m Lucy.”

He stops right in front of her and scans her from head to toe, which only takes a second considering her small stature, and takes her hand politely. His face is still grave as he says. “Garcia. Flynn.”

A ripple of disappointment surges through her and she retreats to her desk chair. Yet, she’s still hopeful that he’s just having a bad day and that tomorrow will be better.

Tomorrow comes and he hands her a stack of papers. “Lucia, Denise asked me to give these to you.”

“It’s Lucy, actually.”

“Right,” His eyes narrow for a fraction of a second as though considering. “Lucia.”

By the next day, she only calls him Flynn because that’s what she hears everyone else calls him and she only ever greets him with ice.

Their days continue in a similar fashion- rivalry eventually building, tensions escalating, until one day, impossibly so, he’s kissing her in a stairwell.

* * *

 

At that point, it had barely been two years since his wife died. Lucy can now understand why he was so cold to her. He probably hated all her sunny smiles and rainbow-vibrant optimism. Little did he know it was all an act to hide her own grief.

He seems to read her thoughts, knowing that she’s thinking back to when they first met because he suddenly says. “I wasn’t very nice to you when you first started at the company. Was I?”

Lucy shakes her head, trying to look flippant. “You weren’t that bad.”

“It was because-” He falters. “I was like that because you took me by surprise.”

She rests her head against the couch now, sideways so she’s still facing him. “What do you mean?”

“I was in a very dark place after Lorena died. I didn’t think I would ever feel anything again. I didn’t want to at least. In fact, I had a better offer than at the Review- a staff writer at a local paper. But that dingy basement- it was the perfect solace for my grief. Then, one day, I get told I’m getting a co-worker, that she starts in two days. Her name... is Lucy.”

He smiles now, faintly. “She’s apparently obtained a PhD from Stanford and is extremely brilliant. But nobody mentions how beautiful she will be. Two days later, I walk into the office and I find you. It was like-”

Lucy hangs on tenterhooks as she waits for him to continue. Her body quivers with a need to hear what he’ll say- to know whether it’ll be good or bad.

“It was like a million sunlights had been installed in the ceiling of that basement office. Something impossible yet so visceral and real had occurred. Lucy, my mind was such a whirl of guilt, hope, and so many other emotions I thought I’d never feel. I was so numb for long and suddenly, the anesthesia had worn off.”

He pauses. “But the emotion that won out was guilt, obviously. I had never fathomed the possibility-” He stops abruptly, halting that sentence. Instead, he turns to her. “I was completely disconcerted by you.”

Lucy feels a prick of disappointment. “Oh. I’m sorry?”

It comes out like a question.

He reaches out, pushing a stray piece of hair away from her forehead- just like in her dream. “I mean that in a good way. Lucy, Lucija, you made me feel hope. You made me happy, again.”

She’s utterly bemused. “I did? Then why did you call me Lucia? And why did you glare at me all the time?”

“I called you Lucija,” He corrects, enunciating. “Because it’s the equivalent of your name, in Croatian. It means light, just like Lucy. It felt apt.” He softens, his fingertips tracing her cheek. “And I liked that no one else got to call you that.”

“I thought you called me that to be an asshole.” Lucy confesses, watching him with sparkling eyes. “And to piss me off.”

“I did enjoy watching the little pinch you’d get right here,” He taps between her brows. “Whenever I called you ‘Lucija’ I was waiting for you to snap and-”  
  
“Kiss me?” She jokes, referencing the conversation that started it all.

“Kill me.” He chuckles. “I never thought you’d kiss me. If I knew that were an option, well maybe I would have done things differently.”

“Like?” She prompts.

“I would have trapped you in the stairwell a long time ago.” He leans forward and presses his lips to hers.

Salvation.

“You never really had me trapped.” Lucy confides. “I could have easily gone back up to the main floor, gone through the basement exit, or slipped past you. I just didn’t want to.”

“Is that so?” His brow quirks and his eyes twinkle with mischief.

She smiles guiltily and lets their lips reconnect, a burst of happiness flaring within her.

When it’s finally dark out and they’ve explored as much of each other as they can while clothed, Garcia reluctantly pulls away. But not before kissing her, chastely, one last time. “I think it’s time for me to go. Before midnight strikes and I turn back into your arch nemesis rather than your knight in shining armor.”

Lucy pouts theatrically, “Impossible.”

“Well, let’s not test that theory.” He looks pensive for a moment. “I do have an idea though, a compromise of sorts.”

Perking up, she nods for him to go on.

“Since you like being even so much, I thought perhaps it’s time you see my place. I got to snoop through your personal belongings and I think it’s your turn. So would you like to come over this weekend, Lucy?”

Lucy grins. “Yes, please.”

“Okay, when?” He asks, somewhat casually. “I want to make sure I have time to hide my Lucy Preston dossier. I’ll need at least two hours to add the info I obtained tonight to it. Like your sordid past as a musician and your hidden ability to speak French.”

“Hardly sordid.” She shakes her head, utterly amused. Secretly she chides herself for not starting a Garcia Flynn dossier back when she thought she hated him. Even if he is being sarcastic about having one on her.

“Tomorrow at 1 PM?” She suggests.

“Sure,” He kisses her forehead and stands. “Besides, that’ll give you enough time to make sure you’re certain about this. That it’s not some PTSD symptom from the hell I put you through today.”

She studies his face, hoping he’s kidding but then finds that he looks completely serious. In fact, he seems a little nervous as he eyes the floor. “Garcia,”

Lucy waits until he shifts his gaze back to her. “It wasn’t your fault and this definitely isn’t a post-panic attack impulse. I kissed you before today, remember?”

“Technically,” His expression lightens, a familiar smirk crossing his lips. “You only said you had thought about kissing me. I kissed you.”

“Well, I kissed you back.” She huffs and then softens, reaching for his hand. “I don’t know what this is or what’ll even happen to it after the Associate Editor interviews, but I know that right now, this is what I want.”

A dark cloud seems to pass over his features for a brief second. Then, a gentle smile of acquiescence paints over it. She idly wonders what truth lay in that middle portion of what she said and if that’s what sparked that regretful look. Maybe this will all be over as soon as he gets the job. Because she’s thought a lot about it and it will likely go to him, with his seniority and confidence.

She tries to let the beginning weave of despair unravel itself enough to paste on a sunny expression. “I’ll walk you out.”

“No, stay here.”

“No, I want to.”

“Lucy,”

“I need to get my mail anyway. I’ll walk you down to the lobby then you can see yourself off from there.” She looks at him with an arched brow. “Deal?”

He nods and entwines his hand in hers. As they descend the stairs and he gets closer to leaving her to her own self-doubt and worrying, her chest begins to tighten. She clasps his hand a little tighter, instinctively.

“Lucy!” A voice interrupts them as they exit the stairwell and make for the lobby door. Lucy turns to see her neighbor, Wyatt Logan, waving from the mailboxes. “I haven’t seen you lately.”

Wyatt’s blue eyes drop down to Lucy’s hand in Garcia’s and there’s a sort of surprised yet disappointed look on his face. He steps forward, his posture rigid and offers his hand to Garcia. “I’m Wyatt Logan.”

Lucy looks between the men, watching Garcia drop her own hand to shake Wyatt’s while his jaw clenches. “Garcia,” He pauses. “Flynn.”

“Flynn,” Recognition flashes across Wyatt’s face and Lucy prays he won’t say something that’ll skew her perfect afternoon. “I think Lucy’s mentioned you.”

The narrowed eyes are enough to make Lucy want to clap a hand over Wyatt’s mouth and push him into a mailbox, locking him in from the outside so he can’t say anything else. She shoots him a pleading look and he gives her a charming smile. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Flynn.”

Lucy lets out a breath, relief flooding her and she’s about to say goodbye when he tacts on one last thing. “Oh and don’t be so hard on Lucy. I’m rather partial to her so anyone that hurts her can expect a visit from me.”

His voice is still charming with the lilt of his slightly-Southern accent but his message is clear.

It seems Garcia receives it as intended. Possessively, he places a hand on Lucy’s back and nods. “I would never hurt Lucy. In fact, I should be saying the same thing to you.”

Lucy looks between the two men, words failing her. How can she diffuse this? “We gotta go, Wyatt. Good to see you!”

She practically drags Garcia off toward the lobby door. When, she hears Wyatt’s footsteps retreat into the elevator, she looks at Garcia to survey him. “Sorry about that. My neighbor is a little, um, protective.”

“Your neighbor?” He questions, his eyes burning with skepticism.

“Yes,” Lucy nods. “And my friend, I guess.”

“You guess?” The heat in his eyes turns infrared as he looks at her laser-sharp. The way he used to. Before the kiss in the stairwell.

“Yes my neighbor slash friend.” She tries to steady her voice. “I don’t know why he was being like that. He was in the army for the while, Delta Force, before he switched to a private government job here in San Francisco. I’m sure it’s just some soldier thing.”

She tries to sound nonchalant but Garcia seems unconvinced and she wonders how this evening soured so quickly. “I can think of a few reasons he was being like that.”

“Garcia, no. It’s not like that. Just,” An exasperated breath escapes her. “Forget about it okay? At least for now. We can talk more tomorrow. If I’m still invited over.”

The break in the last sentence reveals her growing anxiety and it seems to soften his resolve. “Of course you are.”

He leans down and kisses her, a balm to her nerves. “Goodnight, Lucy.”

She smiles up at him, shyly, after he’s pulled away. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Garcia walks through the lobby door and with her heart in her throat, Lucy prays he’ll be back again soon.

* * *

 

A whirl of emotions stirs in Lucy as she wakes the next morning. Most overwhelming is the sense of dread that what she’s started with Garcia will end before it properly begins. She still feels an ache for the time they lost in the past year. Being enemies rather than allies. Even if it was too soon to start something, both of them reeling from the last shreds of grief, they could have been friends.

But now, the promotion looms and they would be split apart either way. She couldn’t imagine having him assign her work and it not affecting their dynamic outside of the office.

Her mind flashes back to the second week at the Review, when he had been ordered by Denise to check over her work. Apparently, it was standard to have all editing done by new hires audited by a colleague.

All had come back clear except for one statement in an article on San Francisco’s Chinatown in the 1880s that had been flagged by Garcia for an untrue statement. Being the expert on San Francisco between 1850-1950, she had an easy time editing that article.

But even though most of that historical timeline was already cemented in her memory, she had still checked it all as she would if she had never read up on that time period. Let alone, wrote on it. After due diligence confirmed all of the statements made by the author were factual she had turned it in only to receive Garcia’s email informing her of an error in it.

In turn, she had typed up what amounted to an essay on why she, in fact, was right, as was the author, and he was wrong. At the end of her defense piece, she cited multiple works which confirmed her argument. None of which were her own work co-authored by her mother. That would have made him think her biased.

Looking back on that now, she remembers a part of her wanted so desperately to impress him. She waited for an apology or even a wow, Lucy you really did your research. But it never came. Instead, he had flipped through it, looked over at her from his desk, stared for a solid three minutes, and then, nodded. That was that.

Disappointment had swirled in her gut for reasons unknown and the next day, she decided she hated him.

But was hate what she ever really felt? Each morning when she got into the office, her heart would clench at the sight of him, her breaths would become labored, and her stomach would twist with anticipation. She had felt certain that all of those sensations pointed toward hate but now, she wondered if they were early symptoms of something else.

Another incident between them comes to mind, a rarer peaceful time between them about six months ago. The interns had just started and were assigned to shadow Lucy and Garcia. Mark had been assigned to Garcia while Sophie had been put with Lucy. Lucy had been patient with Sophie, showing her where she found her sources and giving her a run-through of the fact-checking process. She even gave Sophie a sample article to audit for false information. Garcia meanwhile seemed at his wit’s end with Mark who kept staring at Sophie rather than the presentation Garcia had worked on for him.

Lucy had found it somewhat endearing that Garcia had taken the time to put together PowerPoint slides to teach the intern. They both knew Mark was only interning at the Review because his mother wanted him to follow in her footsteps, something Lucy could relate to all too well, but still, Garcia had been intent on doing his job.

Those slides were so neglected under Mark’s ignorant gaze.

At noon, the interns had been sent off to grab lunch, Mark sticking his hands in his pockets as he asked Sophie if she wanted to go to the Starbucks across the street with him. As the elevator doors shut behind them, Lucy had rolled her desk chair so she was in view of Garcia. His face no longer hidden by her laptop screen, she found his eyes were shut in clear exhaustion. She felt a little sorry for him, despite her fierce loathing.

“It’s not your fault. He’s nineteen and the other intern is a pretty girl who’s smart and distracting.” Lucy said, oddly wanting to provide solace to him. “I’ll take Sophie over to the library when they get back, we’ll go through reference texts and then maybe Mark will finally pay attention to your presentation. I like the slides, by the way, very organized.”

He blinked at her, surprise evident in his expression. “Thank you. Lucy,” She had noted the rare use of her first name. “I suppose you’re right…”

He had trailed off momentarily and she envisioned him remembering his own youth, an early crush perhaps. What type of girl would teenage Garcia Flynn have liked? Perhaps a cynic with violet hair and kohl-rimmed eyes, maybe a penchant for listening to Depeche Mode, Lucy muses.

Garcia suddenly started speaking again. “Being paired off with someone so bright and shining, well, it is rather understandable why his attention would get diverted.”

His eyes had met hers and there was a flash of something Lucy labeled as recognition. Indeed, she was right he was thinking of someone from his past. Except, she no longer pictured a cynic now as the former girl of his dreams. The illumination to his eyes made her think that, instead, he must have once loved someone wholly optimistic. She smiled understandingly at him for what felt like the very first time.

As she stood to go get her own lunch from the kitchenette fridge, a peculiar fluttering had elicited in her solar plexus. Hunger, she had decided, the feeling was simply hunger.

Now, with a startling realization, she accepts that perhaps the long-ago feeling was the first stirrings of an emotion she’s afraid to identify. Perhaps the very one that made her so desperate to earn his forgiveness after upsetting him yesterday. The very one that she fears will only lead to heartbreak if she dare ever speak of it.

When she finally falls asleep, the word love floats hopelessly sky high in the realms of her dreams.  
The day is warm and absent of the usual gloom that hangs over the San Francisco skyline so Lucy wears a breezy long sleeve dress with burgundy flowers on it. Pairing her ankle boots with it, she grabs her keys and heads out the door.

The whole BART ride over, she feels nervous electricity humming through her veins. She’s more wired than the cable cars running through the traffic-filled city.

She tries to distract herself by reading her sister’s latest blog post- a companion piece to the podcast Lucy hasn’t had time to listen to. She gives up after five minutes, her mind drifting away. She’s torn between pretending the promotion is non-existent and asking him what will happen if she gets the job and vice versa.

By the time she reaches his navy blue Victorian with wine-colored trimming, she’s undecided. She knocks on the door, trepidatiously, and smooths out her dress while she waits for him to answer. Internally, she’s considering that the whole week has been a dream and that he’ll answer the door and ask what she’s doing on his porch.

But instead, he answers with a smile and presses a kiss to her cheek. Gently tugging her inside by the hand, she feels a flurry in her chest at the contact. It’s like each second she’s away from him, doubt creeps in and it seems she’s imagined everything that’s transpired between them. But as soon as she’s with him again, all those hesitations fade away and there’s only affection pulsing through her veins.

Inside, she gets a grand tour of his beautiful home which was built in 1893. The original flooring and wood paneling of the house was preserved during its 1990s restoration. As she surveys the hardwood floors and sand-colored ornate walls, she wishes she could move in.

As she glances to survey Garcia’s pleased expression, the word pops into her head again.

_Love._

Last night, she had Google translated the unspeakable word like the heartsick love fool she apparently is. Now, she can say the three little words in just as many languages as he speaks fluently. Not that she’ll say it.

“It’s beautiful,” She speaks at last. Referring to the home, not her newly discovered adoration.

“You haven’t seen the upstairs yet.” Garcia gently taps her on the shoulder, spinning her around toward the stairs. When they arrive in his home office which surely must never get used since he hasn’t missed a day of work in the time she’s known him, she sees a flash of silver on his desk.

“Hey,” She walks over and retrieves her steel monogrammed pen. “I wondered where this went. You thief!”

Her tone is playful and he walks over to her, plucking it from her hands. “You threw it at me and it landed on my desk. Finders keepers. Isn’t that what they tell American children?”

She frowns, “I did not throw it at you. I passed it to you, gently. To borrow.” She enunciates the last word.

“You definitely threw it, Lucy. You have quite the aim, I was impressed.” He puts a finger on his chin. “You were mad I hadn’t signed the birthday card you picked up for Denise yet. You wanted to give it to her by lunchtime and I was the last one to sign. Such a boss’s pet.”

“That’s not a thing.” She laughs, setting the pen back on his desk. He can keep it. In fact, she likes the idea of a little piece of her being in his house.

“If it was, Lucy Preston would be the definition.” He says teasingly. “Come on, I have a present for you downstairs.”

Flicking her gaze to his bedroom as they pass by it, he definitely catches her staring inside it. From the split second glance she has of it, she can see that it’s neat and tidy- bed made up with grey and white linens and olive green throw pillows.

“A present,” Lucy muses. “Is it the dossier? Or maybe a new pen. Since you stole my old one.”

“No,” He leads her down the stairs. “You won’t guess.”

In the dining room, he hands her a rectangular box wrapped in simple brown paper. She cradles the parcel as though it’s remarkable. He grows impatient. “Open it.”

She gently tears the delicately folded edges and reveals a brown leather journal with a wrap-around cover. In the corner are her initials, LP.

It’s strikingly like the one in her dream and she has a dizzying sense of deja vu.

She’s silent for so long he must think she doesn’t like it because he starts explaining. “I thought perhaps journaling could help with your claustrophobia. It’s a good coping method that doesn’t require much work. Or you could just use it to write about how much I annoy you every day of our working lives.”

Garcia’s hopeful gaze lands on her and she meets him with a broad smile. “I love it. It’s beautiful and it’s-” She breaks off, not knowing how to explain. “This is going to sound so insane but that dream I had where you kissed me, there was a journal just like this on my desk.”

“Lucy Preston, the psychic.” He touches her chin. “I like it.”

“No, I’m not saying I’m having visions of the future.” She chuckles. “I just, I don’t know, maybe it’s a sign. That this is what I wanted all along.”

Stepping into him, she hopes she hasn’t revealed too much of herself in that statement but he looks completely charmed by what she’s just said so the mist of worry quickly evaporates.

Her ankle boots give her enough of a boost that she doesn’t have to go on pointe just to kiss him. Her lips link with his and she finds herself getting lost enough in him that she can simply be present. The approaching interview finally disappears from her mind.

“I forgot,” He says, pulling back slightly. “I did pull out the old deed to the house along with some old photos and mementos that were left by the original owners. They’re upstairs in the library if you want to see.”

“There’s a whole library?” Lucy’s mouth falls open. “Why didn’t you show me?”

“I wanted to give you your gift.” He clasps her hands. “But I’ll show you now.”

The expansive library is filled to the brim and she feels so grateful that he’s as bookish as she is. Her eyes roam the titles and find a whole host of European history books she’s never read. Perhaps she’ll broaden her knowledge and read these very texts if he’ll let her come back.

“Here,” Garcia passes her a lidded box. “Inside.”  
  
Opening it, Lucy sees the deed to the house amongst some black and white photos and a few sepia ones. Even some old door knobs that must have been used before the remodel. “Garcia, this is incredible. How did you even get this house?”

“I have a good real estate agent.” He shrugs.

She walks over to the leather armchair in the corner, still clutching the box and begins looking through the photos. She wishes she knew who these people were but by the time she finishes browsing through them, she feels like she does. Sinking back into the chair, she sighs contentedly. “I could stay here forever.”

“Okay.”

Her eyes open to find him taking the box off her lap and putting it on the side table. He sits on the ottoman, lifting her bare legs and draping them over him.

“So?”

She has a million things she wants to ask him but each question might ruin this perfect moment. Like, her imagining that he’ll let her move into his library and stay in this sanctuary forever.

“So,” He echoes and she thinks maybe he’s having similar thoughts. “Should I be concerned that Wyatt Logan might have tailed you here and will bust down my front door any second to rescue his damsel-in-supposed-distress?”

Great, that. She could kill Wyatt for bursting their happy bubble. “No. He’s not an issue. Not for me, at least. But clearly, he is for you. Jealous?” She tries to keep her tone light.

“I am being cautious, that’s all.” He explains sagely. “Lucy, you are young and beautiful and it would make sense if you were interested in someone like Wyatt. Someone unburdened by his past.”

“Well, I am not.” She replies firmly. “Besides, he is definitely not without burdens. He has tons of baggage. So much marriage drama.”

She shakes her head, not wanting to get into it.

“Ah,” Garcia nods. “He is married?”

“He is, he and his wife were briefly separated.” She decides to be honest. “During that time, he did ask me on a date but it never happened and he and Jessica, his wife, got back together anyway. So there is truly nothing to worry about.”

Garcia’s eyes drop. “But there was going to be a date? Were you disappointed it didn’t happen?”

“No,” Lucy says fervently. “I’m the one that was supposed to tell him when I was free but I never got around to it. Anytime I thought about it, I thought of an excuse why not. I worked late some nights just to dodge him. Plus, I was a little too fixated on getting ahead of my coworker on the Fact Checking Game to be planning romantic date nights with my neighbor. And… Eventually, I was too busy having dreams about kissing said co-worker, to even remember he had asked me out.”

This seems to please Garcia who grins at her. “You did work late. I always wondered what you were doing in that dingy basement when you must have someone waiting for you at home.”

“I didn’t.” Lucy looks down at her hands. “My apartment was kind of lonely and well, you’ve seen it, it’s not very homey. So that basement office with only my glaring office mate for company was strangely more comforting than my own living room.”

Garcia looks at her, ruefully. “I did not glare at you.”

“You definitely did.”

Shaking his head he looks at her more seriously and she gathers up the courage to ask the question she’s been avoiding. “What happens if one of us gets the promotion?”

He dodges the question by drawing invisible circles on her legs with his fingertips. Finally, he counters with, “What happens if both of us get the promotion?”

“What?”

“I’m just saying that if we are playing the hypothetical game, we should consider all variables.”

“But there’s only one Associate Editor position-” Lucy starts to remind him.

“That we know of.” He corrects.

Lucy puts a hand to her forehead. “Flynn-” It slips out, an old habit of frustration. “Garcia, I want to be realistic about this. There is a 99 percent chance that one of us will be given the job and the other will be left alone in the basement office. Until the renovations finish, that is. I don’t even know what this is between us and I, at the very least, want to know what to expect once there’s a power shift between us.”

“What happened to all that optimism?” Garcia questions. “The Lucy Preston I work with is always hopeful about the 1 percent.”

“Well, this Lucy Preston doesn’t want to-” Get my heart broken, she almost says. “Get my hopes up so I would rather be logical. So can you answer my question?”

He sighs heavily. “Getting promoted or even demoted wouldn’t change the fact that I like kissing you in stairwells and spending my Saturdays with you in my library. Okay?”

It should be enough, that answer. She knows it should. Yet she still aches for more. For a cemented confirmation that he feels just as strongly as she does. But she can’t say it. Not when she knows that the ghost of his wife may still have ownership over his heart.

Seeming to sense her melancholy, he reaches over and takes her hands. “Lucy, Lucija. Why are you sad?”

“I’m not sad.” She replies automatically.

“You look sad.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Always a debate to be had, she thinks to herself. “Fine. I just wish you would humor me and admit that if I become your boss, you probably wouldn’t like it very much and on the other hand, if you become my boss you’d probably lose interest in me. I’d be down in the basement and would be completely forgotten about.”

Lucy’s acutely aware that she sounds like an angsty teenager discussing the idea of a long term relationship before her boyfriend heads off to college out of state. Except Garcia isn’t even her boyfriend.

“I could never forget about you, Lucy.” Garcia says steadily, making her look at him. “I don’t want to get your hopes up but…”

A prickling sensation takes hold and she looks at him sharply. “What?”

“I talked to Denise on Wednesday about the potential of promoting us both. I argued in both of our favors that we equally deserve the position and therefore should not be pitted against each other because we know that the job won’t come near an external candidate. Which leaves only the two of us… She sounded very open to the idea and said she would talk to Anthony to see if the Review has it in their budget to generate a second Associate Editor position.”

Lucy’s head spins at this revelation and she can’t even formulate a reply for a full minute. “What? Why? How- Why did you even do that? I mean, you’re lowering the chances of you getting the job. If she thinks that’s too much to ask then she probably will just give it to me instead. Why would you do that? I can’t believe-”

“This is why I didn’t tell you.” He squeezes her hands gently. “I knew you would think it was a ridiculous proposition. But you know that I’m right. You deserve that job, if it didn’t mean not sitting across from you every day, I would happily pull myself out of the running. But I’m selfish, Lucy, I don’t think I could bear it. So I found a solution.”

He doesn’t look the slightest bit regretful and she doesn’t know whether to love him more for his impetuousness or default to hating him. Or pretending to at least.

Deciding on the former, she sighs. “I hope this works out in our favor.”

“It will.” He’s quiet for a moment then says. “There was a secondary, perhaps more primary motivation for ensuring we’d both be promoted… While I was in her office, I also asked Denise what the company policy was on relationships with co-workers... It turns out as long as neither half of the relationship is senior to the other, then there is no issue with it. So for example, an Associate Editor could ask out a fellow Associate Editor. Just hypothetically.”

“You talked about all this on Wednesday?”

“On Wednesday.” He confirms and Lucy feels a swell in her chest. That was before the Escape Room had happened.

Only one day after they kissed in the stairwell.

Impulsively, she leans forward and kisses him fully. His hand comes up to her cheekbone, delicately holding her closer, and she lets the ripples of affection flow through her. When she pulls away, the besotted look on Garcia’s face echoes the emotion ringing in her ears. So loud, it deafens her.

The words fall from her lips without second thought. “Volim te.”

_I love you._

Maybe the knowledge of his birthplace is what makes her choose that language, or maybe that it’s the awareness that yesterday he had lied to her- saying that he had said the sky was beautiful when in reality he had told her she was beautiful in that same language.

Either way, it’s Croatian she chooses and she waits eagerly for his reaction, forehead still pressed to his. Her heart’s rhythm quickens with each beat, as the silence stretches on.

When the words she expected to hear in return don’t come, a weight presses down so heavy on her chest she can barely breathe.

Panic begins to pulse rapidly through her bloodstream.

“Lucy.” It’s all she needs to hear.

She stands up, so rapidly, a momentary wave of dizziness hits her but mortification and heartache soon clear it away. Then, she’s flying in the direction of the hallway, shaking off his hand as he tries to pull her back to him.

She’s never felt so foolish in her entire life. What was she thinking declaring her love to someone who will probably never love her back? He didn’t lose his wife by choice so why should she have thought his heart was hers for the taking? Her mind is such a whirl but the strongest thought is that if only she had the comfort of knowing they would soon be separated by the promotion that would ease the anguish a little bit but no. Thanks to his maneuvering they will be stuck together indefinitely.

Her unrequited I love you will forever fill the air around them.

Reaching the staircase, she grips the railing tightly with her shaky hand but her descent is halted by the gentle tug of his hands around her waist. He cuts around her so he’s standing on the step before her, blocking her path. It’s a mirror to the moment before everything changed between them and it makes her heart clench all over again. She squeezes her eyes shut, “Flynn. Move.”

“Lucy, look at me.”

She shakes her head.

“Lucy.”

He’s as patient as one might be with a child throwing a temper tantrum. It infuriates her further.

Drawing in a breath, she musters all her maturity to open her eyes, willing them not to fill with tears. When she meets his gaze, she speaks with resolve. “I don’t need you to let me down easy. I understand.”

“You don’t understand.” He corrects, pleading. “At all.”

He moves his hands to her shoulders and gently guides her down toward the step so she’s sitting. He sits beside her and now she gets to endure an explanation that will no doubt leave her feeling worse. She’s fairly certain, in fact, that she would have rather heard him say the cliche response of thank you that often occurs in an unreturned love exchange. Maybe he could have even given it a classier twist by thanking her in Croatian.

Lucy pulls her knees in and rests her elbows on them, scooting toward the railing so there’s distance between them. Refusing to meet Garcia’ gaze, she keeps her eyes fixed on the stretch of stairs she desperately wants to run down.

But he’s too fast and too strong. He’ll stop her if she tries.

He has the audacity to start with, “I take it you understand what you said.”

She whirls her head at him, glaring at his condescension. “Yes, Flynn. I know what I said. Thank you for offering to clear that up.”

“Lucy, I didn’t know if you knew what you were saying. I thought-” His eyelids fall closed as he frowns. He opens those green eyes once more and her heart hurts all over again.

“I thought you meant something else and made a mistake. Maybe you meant to say you liked me. I don’t know, all I know is that you don’t speak Croatian fluently enough for me to have been sure of what you said. And even if you were, to be honest, I wouldn’t believe it. I certainly don’t understand you running off, you must know...”

His gaze is soft hers is razor sharp, still prickling with indignation as she cuts in. “Know that you don’t feel the same? Yes, I got that.”

Her tone is as bitter as she feels and the acid still burns on her tongue even as falls silent.

“Lucija,” Garcia pulls her in and his touch makes her tension ease a little, without her permission. She hates his power over her. He murmurs into her hair, sending a shiver down her spine. “I love you, volim te, ti amo, _te_ amo, je t’aime, miluju tě. I will learn every other language ever recorded just to say it and convince you. But I thought it was obvious.”

Lucy pulls back enough to survey him, self-conscious all over again, but this time with something like hope bursting in her chest rather than heartbreak. “You do?”

“Of course I do,” He says fiercely.

Thanks to her late-night Google Translate deep dive, she understood each and every I love you from Italian to Czech. But still, the long eon of silence after she said those same words still replays in her mind, making her wary. Her heart can’t mend that quickly. “You’re positive?”

Garcia laughs, the affection in his eyes morphing into amusement. “Lucy, I don’t hatch plans for dual promotions for just anyone.”

“I don’t know that.” She replies, defensively.

“Yes,” He wipes a stray tear from her cheekbone and kisses away the salty trace of it. “You really do.”

He stands suddenly, pulling her up with him. “Come here, clearly I need to show you something. Although knowing you and your stubbornness it won’t be enough but it’ll have to be proof in lieu of access to my memories.”

Slowly, she feels the idle stitching together of her mangled heart, each thread making it whole once more.

Delighted curiosity fills her as she follows him into his office. He retrieves a key from his wallet, tucked into the cardholder section, and sticks it in the top locked drawer.

“Escape Room level secrecy,” Lucy comments wryly. “Am I about to see the nuclear codes?”

He chuckles, “Something like that.”

Retrieving a manila folder, he flips it open and she sees a familiar stapled set of papers. It’s her favorite typeface and there’s still a post-it on it adorned with bright red ink in her handwriting, FYI.

It feels like yesterday that she angrily scrawled across the yellow scrap of paper in an extra bold Sharpie, slapping it onto the typed-up defense essay. She had planted it on his desk with an angry sweep of her hand. Beneath the post-it lays her rebuttal of his criticisms on her fact-checking work on the 1880s San Francisco Chinatown piece. One of the first articles she ever edited for the review.

“Why do you still have this?” She’s genuinely bemused.

He’s silent.

Staring at him in disbelief, she glances down at the paper then back at him. “Why was my angry rant on why you were wrong-” She can’t finish, can’t even form the question.

It doesn’t matter because he chooses to finally explain.

“I wanted reminding, I suppose, of the moment I fell in love with you. The precise instant the darkness lifted and I realized that maybe I was led to San Francisco for a reason- to meet you. The day I met you it was like a generator had been turned on in a building that had gone for a very long time without power, without light. I started to see life differently, I started to have hope. Then, you handed me that and I knew I loved you for certain. It was ten days, 90 hours, into our time working together. I saved it thinking someday I’d need a reminder that the grief had lifted and I had fallen in love again. It didn’t matter if you’d never love me back, it was enough to know that you cared so much about something that you felt compelled to type up over 2,000 words in its defense.”

He points to the corner of the paper. “You even dated and time-stamped it. So now I have on record that on October 6th at 10:02 am, I fell in love with Doctor Lucy Preston, fact-checker extraordinaire.”

At last, she’s convinced whole-heartedly of his love, so much so that it surges through her. In fact, she feels rather foolish now after her outburst. Suddenly, she frets. “Are you sure you still do? Even after the melodramatics.”

“Especially after the melodramatics.” Garcia smiles emphatically. “How else would I be convinced? You, unlike me, seem not to have any concrete proof to offer. So I will happily accept your dramatic escape from my house as a sign that you meant what you said. You’re faster than I would have thought by the way.”

“So learning how to say I love you in Croatian wasn’t enough evidence?” Lucy asks, not mentioning that she had also listened to the online pronunciation.

“No,” He gives her a wry look. “Can you say it again? That might convince me.”

“Volim te.” Lucy says against his lips.

“Again,” Garcia instructs.

“Volim te, volim te, volim te,” She says each one between kisses and trails off as his tongue glides against hers. After a while, she pulls away slightly with purpose.

“You skipped a room on the tour of your house.” A coy smile plays at her lips.

“Ah,” He plays with a lock of her hair. Her brown eyes sparkle, she’s sure. “I think you’re right.”

Against his neck, she asks. She presses her lips to his pulse point. “Can you show me it now?”

He lets out a breath as her tongue trails over the spot where she’s just kissed him. She bites gently. “Please.”

“Alright.” He stands and then encircles her, lifting her to her feet. Hands in hers, his mouth twists into a smile. “Only because you asked nicely.”

* * *

 

**_One week later._ **

The dual ping of their laptops breaks the quiet of the Monday afternoon. They’ve both been on edge, awaiting the promotion news. In the week that had passed, Lucy had spent almost every night at Garcia’s place- save for the night before her interview so she could keep a clear head. Since then, his love had woven her closer to him. So much so that focusing on her work was difficult, especially with him wheeling over in his desk chair throughout the day to pepper her with kisses.

The isolated basement had its perks, it turned out.

But today was different. It had been silent between them and there had been a slight tension looming in the air. Lucy knew that no matter the outcome, they would work it out. Of that she had been convinced. But still, the thought of being parted when they had only just begun pierced her bubble of happiness.

“Read it together?” Garcia asks, gesturing for her to come over to his desk. Lucy nods, sucking in a breath and pushing her desk chair to sit beside him. Sitting back down, she threads her hand through his and squeezes once.

With a single click, their fate is dealt.

> **To:** All  
>  **From:** Denise Christopher, Anthony Bruehl  
>  **Subject:** Associate Editor Announcement
> 
> Dear staff,
> 
> We would like to formally announce the promotion of both Garcia Flynn and Lucy Preston to Associate Editors. We welcome them to the editing team and look forward to seeing their work in the future issues of our journal.
> 
> Additionally, Sophie Hayes has accepted our offer to become our newest Fact Checker once her internship concludes at the end of next month.
> 
> Thank you all for your help in welcoming these new changes.
> 
> Sincerely,  
> Denise Christopher  
> Anthony Bruehl

  
A deeply relieved breath escapes Lucy as she sinks back in her chair, grateful. Her eyes cut to Garcia to find him grinning at her widely and a little smugly. “I told you. Always believe in the 1 percent.”

“Look at you,” She leans forward, scooting her chair so close to his that their knees knock. “Who knew you could be such an optimist?”

He smiles, kissing her with fervor. “We will celebrate tonight. After we go fill out the paperwork in HR declaring our relationship.”

“We have to do that?” Her brows crease. “We’ve been breaking the rules this whole time and you didn’t tell me? Garcia! That could have jeopardized our promotion.”

“I wanted to make sure it didn’t.” He says calmly. “It’s not like any of those main level staffers ever dein to come visit us down in the basement. They have no idea about all the times you couldn’t keep your hands off me during working hours.”

Lucy scoffs, indignant. “I think you’ve got that backward.”

He pointedly glances down at where her hand is resting on his chest and she withdraws it, playfully. A thought strikes her. “Are they going to make poor Sophie sit down here all alone? Think of Mark, he’ll be devastated.”

“No,” Garcia shakes his head. “Denise had mentioned something about converting the basement level into a supply and copier center for the journal. Maybe even doing the Review’s issue printing down here. Sophie will get a desk on the third level since by then, it should be remodeled. You think Mark will stick around?”

“You saw him,” She points out. “I heard him ask Sophie out to get milkshakes after the Escape Room, so sweet and oddly old fashioned. He will. Probably will get an assistant position, something lowly that won’t look like nepotism.”

Garcia laughs, “Well, I should suggest to Denise that she seats her son a little further away from Sophie so he can start getting some actual work done. That punk certainly didn’t bother to learn a thing about fact checking on the Shadow Day.”

“That punk?” Lucy whacks him playfully. “You even said it wasn’t his fault, it’s his first love. Don’t deny that you relate. You said and I quote, ‘Sitting across from someone so bright and shining, well, it is rather understandable why his attention would get diverted.’”

“How do you even remember that, Lucija?” He peers at her curiously.

“I remember because you had this wistful look in your eye and I thought it was cute. It completely counteracted your hostility efforts and it was clear you were picturing your own first crush or love or something like that.” She shrugs. “And you almost smiled at me. I guess you forgot about it all.”

“Lucy,” He tilts his head at her. “I did not forget. I know exactly what look you are talking about and you completely misinterpreted it, despite how obvious it was.”

Shooting a bemused look at him, she gestures for him to explain.

“I suppose that doctorate program did not cover clear romantic cues,” He jokes. “Lucy, I was talking about you. Hence me pointedly saying ‘sitting across from.’”

Lucy blinks. “Oh.”

“See,” Garcia presses a finger to her delicate chin. “This is what I mean, I made it very clear how I felt about you.”

“Besides the fact that you consistently called me by a name that wasn’t my actual-”

“A nickname,” He corrects.

“Well, still.” Lucy tries to think of another argument. “You never smiled at me.”

“You stopped smiling at me.” He points out. “Plus, I needed another try. The first time I was too blinded. You never gave it to me, though.”

She laughs, delighted. “Blinded, what a line. Hey,” She leans in. “Volim te.”

“Ti amo.” He replies in Italian, kissing her. Then he reaches for her hand, threading his strong fingers through her dainty ones. “Come on, let’s go fill out that paperwork.”

“Yeah?” She grins wryly, standing up. “Are you ready for the office to find out you have a heart? You’ve worked pretty hard to keep that hidden.”

They stride in sync toward the exit.

“I’m ready for the whole office to find out that I have a heart that belongs to Lucy Preston.” Garcia says it so confidently that Lucy swears her heart grows three times its size in that moment.

With that, he opens to the door to the stairwell and The Fact Checking Game ends.

Lucy has learned all the truths that lie beneath Garcia Flynn’s surface. He, in turn, has learned all the vital facts that make Lucy ‘Lucija.’

Lucy knows for certain, as they climb the steps hand-in-hand, that the best fact she ever discovered in this job is this:

She does not hate Garcia Flynn.

In fact, she loves him.

Perhaps infinitely more than the day she realized it.

With no more facts in this work to be discovered, she follows Flynn through the doors to begin a new story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End :)


	3. Epilogue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per [KissedByDragonFire's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissedbydragonfire/pseuds/kissedbydragonfire) suggestion, I have added on an additional chapter in Garcia's point of view. It also serves as an epilogue with a bonus scene at the end :) 
> 
> I hope you all like this!

For the first time in four years; precisely one thousand six hundred and twelves days, Garcia Flynn feels something. Since the heavy clouds of grief cleared without his permission, he has been in a numb stupor. In fact, he couldn’t tell you if it rained last week or even what he had for dinner three nights ago. He couldn’t tell you if he burned his tongue on said dinner or if that was impossible because he ate something cold like a salad.

If it had rained, the downpour could have soaked through his clothes as he walked from his car into his house and he wouldn’t have even shivered in the slightest.

No feelings, no emotions, no sentiments had registered in his robotic mainframe since sorrow fled him. His heart was now merely a vessel in which to pump blood through his hollow body. The one he really didn’t care to even have functioning at this point.

But of course, he wouldn’t be let off the hook from this empty existence so easily. Instead, he was in excellent health; another _fuck you_ from the universe.

Although, any psychologist would argue that his health was far from perfect. Because his mind was clearly ailing being so void of sense.

Now, on this dreary Monday with its nimbus-strewn skies, the void has been filled. Looming heavy in his mind are the early threads of anger, anticipation, and resentment.

It had all begun when Denise Christopher had stopped by his desk on Friday to let him know he would be getting an office mate. One Lucy Preston, PhD certified and highly recommended by each reference listed on her overflowing resume. She would start Monday.

As Garcia processed this news, a furniture delivery guy had arrived on cue, wheeling in a desk identical to his. The man was soaked with sweat and seemed to be completely mentally checked out. So he merely placed the desk a couple steps away from Garcia’s, wheeled his dolly off, and was gone.

The expanse of the tile floors stretched around the too-close desks. It made the room feel smaller and larger at the same time.

Garcia had stared at the empty desk, deciding he already resented whoever would occupy it. He couldn’t stand the idea of seeing his den of woe filled with the presence of another.

The pulsing of blood through his veins combined with the sound of his vexed heartbeat now deafen him as he climbs into the elevator down to the basement...

To make matters worse, moments ago he was stopped by Denise before he made it into the elevator. She personally asked him to keep an eye on Lucy and make sure she has a great start to this job. Apparently, Lucy was quite overqualified for the Fact Checker position and Denise had high hopes for Lucy’s future at the Review.

If Garcia had his way, this pretentious Lucy Preston would take her overqualified ass off to McGraw-Hill and go edit the history textbooks for the benefit of high school students. Anything that would remove her from his space.

The doors slide open and there she is.

His new mortal enemy.

Skulking over to his desk, he decides not to look at her. His gaze is so heated with fury, he’ll probably burn her if he does. But dodging her becomes quickly impossible as she stands directly in the path to his chair.

She is five-foot-nothing and looks so small that just the very mere breath coming out of his mouth might knock her over. Perhaps he’ll give it a try if she gets on his nerves, more than she already has.

She’s dressed in a black pencil dress layered over a white collared shirt. Her bright red lips are pressed firmly together as she smooths out her dress, looking down at the invisible wrinkles with a frown.

As soon as he stops in front of her, she looks up.

Light brown eyes the color of toffee crinkle up at him and his heart clenches.

He ignores the surging feeling, probably derived from ire, as he stares back at her expectantly. Does she plan on perching in front of his desk all day?

“Hi,” Her lipsticked mouth stretches and the blinding light that emanates from her smile makes him blink. His eyes open again and she’s speaking. “I’m Lucy.”

He takes another step forward so he can shake her outstretched hand, his eyes fall to her feet for a reprieve from the glare of her megawatt smile. When they rise back up to meet her gaze, he manages, “Garcia Flynn.”

He no longer knows how to smile, it’s been almost half a decade since his lips so much as curled up into even a smirk, so he just looks at her blankly. The smile on her symmetrical face almost instantly disappears as she steps away.

It should be a relief that expression of displeasure takes hold on her face. Instead, his stomach dips as though he’s the one who’s disappointed.

Sitting down at his desk, he prays that she gets promoted fast so she will leave this basement level and stop making him feel things. Life was easier when he was numb.

This blur of color painting his emotions is far too confounding. Far too unnecessary.

In fact, he will give Denise glowing reports of Lucy’s work. An encouragement to move her up the ladder. And he will see to it personally that Lucy Preston becomes the finest, most promotion-worthy employee the Review has ever seen.

* * *

The grief counselor he had seen a whole one time had told him to take life day-by-day in the wake of Lorena’s death. It was the only takeaway worth his while from that ill-fated appointment. The one that somehow made him feel even more destitute than when he had entered the therapist’s windowless office with it’s neatly shelved books on grief. As though that man with the portrait of a happy family on his desk knew anything about loss.

_Day-by-day._

For four years, he had never thought of tomorrow. Never anticipated anything, not even a paycheck being deposited into his account or even the arrival of the weekend. But now, Lucy Preston has decided to break his day-by-day principle by inserting herself into his mind just before he falls asleep.

His mind fixates on whether she hates him yet. Then, a not yet fully-formed desire to reverse his poor impression on her starts to bubble up inside him. He pops the bubble before it can properly encircle him and forces Lucy out of his mind.

He doesn’t know why, but just her name echoing through his mind feels like a betrayal to his beloved. Lorena. Lorena, who would have probably found Lucy adorable with her beaming smile and penchant for scribbling on post-it notes.

How has he already noticed so much about Lucy?

Right then, between the 700-thread-count sheets, he decides he will only think about Lucy in Croatian. It feels like less of a dishonor to Lorena. She never learned Croatian despite the Rosetta Stone software pack that collected dust in the back of the desk drawer.

Lucija.

The light of the name suits her. It’s the way she made him feel. Illuminated from somewhere deep within.

As his eyes flutter shut, he wonders where can find the light switch.

* * *

Denise stops him again on the main floor as he waits for the elevator to arrive. She’s holding a stapled pack of papers. He hopes their elevator chats on Lucy won’t become a regular occurrence. “Garcia, how did Lucy’s first day go?”

He remembers his resolve to get Lucy out of the basement and up onto a higher floor. He forces an approving tone. “I think you made an excellent choice in hiring her. She seems quite capable.”

Denise seems pleased, nodding sagely. Then she hands the papers she was holding to him. “Don’t forget, you’ll need to check over all her work and send back your report to me by next Monday. I expect good results. Here’s some paperwork she forgot to fill out in HR yesterday. She can bring it up to their office when she’s done.”

He bobs his head an agreement as the ping of the just-arrived elevator sounds. The doors slide open and Denise thanks him before he’s delivered down to the basement floor.

She’s beat him in and he wishes he didn’t feel a tiny ripple of comfort in seeing the basement not empty for once. He’s supposed to like the isolation of it, not rue it. He walks over to her desk, willing himself to feel the fiery burn of hatred for her as he drops the stapled forms onto her desk.

“Lucija,” His private nickname for her slips out. He curses himself silently and prays she won’t realize- he stops that thought. Realize what? That he speaks Croatian, hardly a crime. “Denise asked me to give these to you.”

She rolls her desk chair over to where he’s set them and glances at them once before raising her gaze to his. There’s a sort of debate waging out over her features before she finally speaks somewhat tersely. “It’s Lucy, actually.”

Garcia mentally congratulates himself for pissing her off so easily before hating himself for the feeling of triumph. It’s becoming harder and harder to see her as his enemy and he has no idea why. She is the bane of his pitiful existence after all. It should be easy to loathe her.

Playing into her already crumbling impression of him, he gives her his most apathetic nod.

“Right,” He pauses here, trying to decide if this really is how he should proceed. He could have a friend, if he just says sorry and corrects himself, playing off the faux-pas. But no, Lucy Preston has invaded his sanctum of solitude enough. He doesn’t need a friend. He forces his voice to be flippant and careless. “Lucija.”

Garcia doesn’t know it then as Lucy swivels back over to her computer screen but he’ll come to regret the moment he called her Lujica in that irreverent way. Because from then on she only calls him _Flynn_ and the reproach feels like a punch to the gut each time.

* * *

 

It’s the anniversary of Lorena’s death and he’s driven four hundred and two miles to the site of her grave, just a few blocks from the house she grew up in. He’s armed with a bouquet of irises, their vibrant petals littering the passenger seat of his car.

As he sets them on the marble headstone, he thinks back to their wedding day. The incandescently happy feeling that had flowed through him feels so far away. He starts to think just the sensation of being happy is a distant memory too but then Lucy’s smile pops into his head. The one he hasn’t seen since her first day nearly six months ago. He stole all her smiles with his Lucija-calling and correcting of her work. She didn’t know it was for her benefit. Not yet, at least.

Another prick of remorse for thinking of Lucy at his dead wife grave’s pierces him in the heart until he thinks more deeply.

Would Lorena have wanted him to suffer alone like this had she known her fate? Certainly, she wouldn’t have wanted this lonesome existence for him. At the very least, she would have wished him to be surrounded by friends. Ones who could ease the pain of her loss.

But any friends he had were hers first and just seeing them was far too painful of a reminder afterward.

Now, he had no one.

He flashes back to the night Lorena had asked him about his exes. “So Garcia, any ghosts in your past? Some Croatian sun-tanned beauty I should be jealous of?”

There hadn’t been a hint of envy in her eyes though, she was light and playful. She just seemed genuinely curious to know who he had loved before, _if_ he had loved before. She explained later, “I don’t need to be the only love of your life, Garcia. Or even the greatest love of your life. I know, simply put, that you love me, that you choose me every day, and that’s enough for me.”

His answer reverberates in the back of his mind.

No, she would want you to be loved. Even if that meant by someone who wasn’t her.

His heart which he still believed to be shattered into a dozen unmatchable puzzle pieces somehow folds together then.

“Lorena,” He begins, putting a hand on the flower-adorned gravestone. There was already a handful of bouquets here by the time he arrived. Her friends and family members having already visited. “Please forgive me. I hope- I hope you can understand that I need to make room in my heart for another love. You once told me you didn’t need to be the love of my life,” He chuckles softly. “You have no idea how deeply offended I was. I almost took the ring off your hand. But then, you told me how me choosing you and loving you was enough. Still, I couldn’t imagine not choosing you.To me there was never any other choice but now-”

He breaks off, thinking of Lucy’s sad eyes the other day. He had come in late, having had to get in an oil change before heading into work, and he caught her staring into the confines of the basement with a forlorn look he had never seen before. Idly, he had wondered if his continued cold shoulder and displays of apathy had broken her. Standing there in the stairwell, gazing through the little single pane window he wondered why it was she looked so sad.

And why he wanted to be the one to make her happy.

He had his answer now.

“I didn’t think I would want anyone ever again. But then, Lucy came along. I’ve started to think, perhaps she was led to me. Because I don’t know how much longer I could have gone on just going through the motions daily. She gives me hope. I don’t know that I’ll ever do the same for her but I’d like to try.”

Trying might only ever amount to being Lucy’s friend and nothing more but even that makes him happier than he’s felt in years.

He places the irises on the grave, delicately and whispers a goodbye.

As he climbs into the car, his chest feels lighter and a ripple of mending surges through him. Beneath his surface, although he does not know it as he drives, the puzzle pieces of his heart slowly come back together to form a whole. A no longer empty vessel that beats out solely of purpose, but now beats with a note of hope.

* * *

 

It’s Shadow Day at the Review which means the interns will be making their rotations throughout the office. To start, Denise has decided to bestow them upon Lucy and Garcia. He wonders if Denise assigned her son to him because she thinks Garcia’s steely exterior might frighten the boy into a stronger work ethic. Probably.

Lucy gets Sophie who’s wide-eyed and looks at Lucy like she’s a miracle. He can relate. It strikes him as endearing at how badly Sophie clearly wants to emulate Lucy. She’s even layered a collared shirt under her dress just like Lucy would.

While Lucy and Sophie get on like Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton, seeming the oldest of friends, Garcia struggles to train Mark as Denise had hoped. Yet, the boy’s eyes keep drifting toward Sophie, a dreamy-eyed distance to them.

When Mark leaves for his lunch break, trotting behind Sophie like a puppy who’s just found its new owner, Garcia can’t help but sigh aloud.

“It’s not your fault,” Lucy’s voice breaks the quiet. Her tone is almost empathetic. When he glances over at her, she’s looking at him in a soft way he can’t remember even seeing before. He wills his brain to tuck away this moment into the forefront of his memory. “He’s nineteen and the other intern is a pretty girl who’s smart and distracting. I’ll take Sophie over to the library when they get back, we’ll go through reference texts and then maybe Mark will finally pay attention to your presentation. I like the slides by the way, very organized.”

Garcia blinks at her, wondering how he just stumbled into this kind moment, the sort that might be shared by two friends.

_Friends._

The word replays in his mind and he realizes this might be his chance to reshape their dynamic. He manages a half smile of gratitude- he still hasn’t quite managed the tooth-bearing sort of smile. “Thank you. Lucy,” He decides to use her name because he knows she will appreciate it. “I suppose you’re right…”

He trails off wondering if friendship is really his best avenue. What is worse- he wonders- spending his days unspeakably in love with his future friend or declaring his love to his rival and being rejected? He decides on a compromise. A promise of a ceasefire and the hint of a desire to end the war.

“Being paired off with someone so bright and shining, well, it is rather understandable why his attention would get diverted.” He can’t help but put his feelings for her in the undercurrents of his statement.

He prays her expression doesn’t turn into one of disgust.

It doesn’t.

Her lips, colored the shade of a Cabernet wine, break into a heart-shattering smile. One just like she gave him on the very first day.

Suddenly, the basement is filled with a hope brighter than sunshine.

* * *

Garcia Flynn laments that early decision to see to it personally that Lucy Preston be promoted. Because now, the prime opportunity for her to rise in the ranks, and in the floor level, has arisen. He’ll be left alone when the tide was just beginning to turn.

Every day since the Shadow Day ceasefire, he had done tiny little gestures to show her a truer side of him. He had been working so hard to erase the traces of resentment she surely must harbor for him and now, it was all about to be irrelevant.

The moment the Associate Editor position was announced, their armistice had ended. He could see it in her eyes which had cut to him a mere second after the promotion opportunity was announced. Those sweet toffee eyes had lit into a fiery shade that was fueled by hate.

Her message was clear: Game on.

The last thing he wanted was to compete with her. He wanted Lucy to succeed, truly. In fact, he had found himself often wondering what she was doing in this job that she was far too qualified for. Once, he had even spotted an email from a headhunter left open on her computer offering her an assistant position at The SF Herald. Nervous anxiety had taken hold- one day he might walk in only to find her desk empty, learning that she had moved onto something better. But it never came.

Now, here was her chance to leave him alone in the empty basement like she’d always wanted to.

A plan had formed in his mind since the twenty-four hours of the promotion announcement. He would apply for the position too. Even if he knew she would likely be awarded it, the application process gave him a chance to come up with something more permanent. If by some miracle he got it, he could easily request to keep his desk down in the basement. Then, he wouldn’t have to leave her.

But if she got it, well, then it was out of his hands.

This morning, when Lucy had gotten into the office the air between them had shifted. It should have been the sort of tension that hangs over enemy lines. But it wasn’t.

There was something so tentative about it. Gone was Lucy’s challenging stare of yesterday. Today, she would barely even look at him after their routine banter had concluded. Her eyes were shifty and she kept tapping her neatly trimmed, polished nails against the desk.

An hour into the shift, Garcia had been desperate to clear the moody expression from her face so he had started a conversation about the team-building proposal. The attempt at conversing quickly turned into battle though as Lucy fired off jabs.

He didn’t mind. Engaging with her in verbal combat was better than diverting her gaze all day. Besides, he was confident in the team activity he had proposed. It was why he had gotten in so early, to check that it was foolproof.

Sending the company into an Escape Room obstacle course was the perfect way to break free he and Lucy’s dynamic. He could ensure they were placed on the same team, certainly secure a win, and then suggest they get drinks afterward to celebrate. As a team of course. In fact, he would put Mark and Sophie on their team so that way their underaged selves couldn’t tag along and he and Lucy could finally talk outside of this battleground. And maybe lovelorn Mark could benefit from it all. He clearly hadn’t made a move on Sophie since Shadow Day. Garcia would have to throw him a bone.

Lucy stands suddenly now, after saying something about she’ll make sure he never has any fun when she’s boss. It perplexes him deeply because never once, in the history of her working here, has she fled during one of their signature word wars.

She flings open the door to the stairwell and Garcia pushes back from his desk, to follow her on instinct.

“I might be going to jump off the rooftop right now. Do you really want to follow?” She asks, sardonically.

To his relief, their banter continues as they march up the steps toward the main level. The reprieve ends swiftly when Lucy delivers a gut-wrenching stab to his heart. “You’ll push me off and claim it was an accident.”

That wounds him. Somehow, he’s never seemed to shake her resolve to view him as an enemy, even during their truces. It’s like she believes he’s conspiring against her. He once Googled her, in the early days of her time at the Review, and found a blog with a few conspiracy theories. He thought it was hers- it would make sense given her crazy notions about him, but then he saw the blog was by an Amy Preston, not Lucy. There were nonsensical ideas about time travel being real and the government hiding it, he had quickly clicked off in guilt and decided never to Google Lucy again.

But now, he wonders if this Amy and Lucy are related because they come up with equally impossible ideas. Flinging Lucy off the roof is the last thing he’d ever do. He’d be more likely to plummet to his death trying to save her.

“You’ll miss me,” He wills it to be true as they cross the threshold into the main level.

Once in the kitchenette, Lucy starts making coffee, only brewing enough for one cup, he notes. When it finishes, he grabs the mug for her and hands it to her in a cordial way. These are the little things he did during the stalemates that seemed to make her smile. Today, it just makes her back away in a shaky way.

So apparently she still thinks he’s out to get her, great. He wishes he could still her trembly hands with his touch.

Starting his own cup of coffee, he masks his disappointment at her obvious fear of him.

With a steady, he prattles on about her missing him because he wishes it was honest like a hopeless fool. There’s so much truth to his words that he can’t comprehend that Lucy hasn’t realized his feelings.

Even when he admits that he indeed will miss her, she barely flinches.

In fact, he almost grows bored of it all. Until she says it. The thing that has his heart stopping and his mind whirring.

“I do stare back. Just to make sure the moment hasn’t arrived when you finally snap and kis-”

His mind rewinds that last sentence. She just said kiss. Or almost said ‘kiss.’ He’s positive. He racks his brain for other variations of what the three letters could spell if rejoined by more of the alphabet. Every possibility doesn’t fit.

Then, it strikes him…

She’s finally figured it out. After all these months of dropping hints, she knows that he wants her, desperately. His chest clenches as he hazards a glance at her face to see if she looks repulsed.

As Garcia scans Lucy, he finds flushed cheeks and a swively gaze that seems desperately to try to turn back time. Why should she be the embarrassed one? He wonders.

“Yes?” He’s desperate for more. For an explanation, for something, for anything. “You were saying?”

She clears her throat and says the only words that could hurt him in this moment. Except they don’t. Because they sound like a lie, even to his ears. “Kill me.”

Still, he can’t help but feel a tiny but crestfallen, if not at her reluctance to be honest with him.

He mentally wagers how to proceed, deciding to press further on the subject in the privacy of the stairwell.

As he stops directly in front of the door, Lucy gets that glint in her eye that’s always there before the banter begins. “Oh great, you really have broken. You’re going to kill me in this stairwell with its lack of security cameras and harsh fluorescent lighting so you can enjoy the gory sight of my brutal death.”

He doesn’t play along, this time. Shaking his head, he uses silence to free the truth from her.

“Well, just don’t lock me in here as your torture method.” She visibly swallows a gulp of fear. “I’d rather go quickly.”

“I want to know what you were really going to say.”

He watches as she feigns ignorance. “What?”

“Back there. You almost said something else.” His hope for what he thinks she said keeps him from actually saying it. He feels like if he says it aloud, it won’t be true. It’ll kill the possibility of it.

“No, I didn’t.” Now she’s definitely blushing and she looks incredibly guilty. What for? He muses again.

“Ah,” He steps closer to inspect her, nodding. “You’re all flushed. What is it, Lucy?”

“No,” He sees her eyes lock on the door handle just behind him, he’s unwittingly created enough of a clearing for her to escape. She’s free, of course she’s free to go. He’d never actually trap her. But what’s most intriguing is that something is making her stay. Testing her, he says, “I will let you out once you tell me.”

Thus begins her default tap out, the HR card. Lucy Preston always brings up HR just when things get interesting. It’s how he knows he’s onto something.

Lucy’s eyes seem to swivel about the room, as though surveying the exit routes. She could slip past him, climb back up the stairs toward the main level, or go below to the emergency exit.

She chooses neither, to his relief.

“How long until you get Stockholm Syndrome, Lucija?”

“I already have it.”

Her words spark in his ears and he can’t help but smile at her in amusement. The smile fades as a faltering Lucy stumbles backward, nearly down the steps to the emergency door.

Just in time, he swoops an arm around her waist, steadying her with a gentle press of his palm to her break. He’s close enough that he feels her sigh of relief against his neck. She’s in her highest heels today, he notes, as she stills in his grip.

“I meant-”

“Tell me what you were going to say.” He pleas.

_“Kiss.”_

The words are a pale-pink cotton-candied whisper.

He knew the answer, but still, it catches him by surprise. A sort of stirring ignites throughout his body. One he had so diligently ignored in all this time of knowing her. He can’t help but let his gaze fall to her parted lips. “Is that what you want?”

When she nods, he closes the distance between them letting the currents of desire take over.

Her lips being on his is an instant relief. The monochromatic basement suddenly surges with color as her tongue coyly tastes him. He allows her to deepen the kiss and instantly feels the tension flood her body.

When she sighs, he can’t help but pull back a little to make sure this is all real. That her face won’t be a mask of terror or horror at him kissing her. Reassurance comes in the form of her tugging him back to her mouth in a rush.

They stay like that for an endless stretch of time and a canvas fills in his mind with the image of Lucy Preston’s lips on his.

Until the opening of a door presses play on this beautifully paused moment in the stairwell of The American Historical Review. When they pull apart, he finds that Lucy looks just as awestruck as he feels. It wasn’t all in his head.

The swift relief is replaced by the fear that they could both face repercussions for making out in a stairwell at work. But Lucy is faster than he is and squeezes past him in a rush. He follows her over to their desks and he can tell from her panicky expression she will try to press rewind.

But the thing is, he felt her pull him closer. He felt her desperate sigh of relief against his lips as he kissed her. That right there was not a moment of creation. She’s the one that wondered about him kissing her, after all.

So he decides that beautiful picture of Lucy Preston kissing him in a concrete stairwell won’t hang alone in the gallery of his heart.

It’ll just be the first of many. No matter how long he must wait to hang each new painting.

* * *

 

The last time Garcia made this four hundred and two mile drive alone was well over two years ago. Last year, Lucy had climbed into his SUV and sat with a bouquet of irises and made the trek to the cemetery with her hand in his. Now, he realizes she never asked why irises.

He hadn’t asked her to go then. He would never expect nor even anticipate Lucy wanting to go with him to put flowers on his late wife’s grave. In fact, he had only told her in order to ask for permission. The last thing he wanted was to make her feel like second best to Lorena.

But when he broached the subject, simply asking her if she minded him driving to Ashland, Oregon in two days time to lay a bouquet on Lorena’s headstone in honor of the anniversary of her death, Lucy had simply responded with, “Of course not. What time should we leave?”

Another familiar wave of love had crashed on the shores of his heart then. Maybe Lucy and Lorena never got to meet in Lorena’s lifetime, but at least they had met that day in a sense.

Now, he was going there on a date of no significance simply to say goodbye for one last time. It was time to close the chapter of mourning.

He knew he couldn’t give himself fully to Lucy unless he did so. She didn’t ask for this but it was perhaps the best thing he could give her. The only thing that might make him feel worthy of her love.

Pulling up along the empty curb of the cemetery, Garcia thinks of Lucy once more. She knows where he is right now but she doesn’t know why. She assumed it was Lorena’s birthday, he thinks, because she asked him how old she would have been. Then, she said she wished she go with him but that her final edit of this month’s feature article couldn’t be pushed back.

“Lorena,” He kneels down by the grave. “I think this is the last time I’ll be seeing you for a while. I think it’s time to say goodbye once and for all. I just- I wish I could get your permission. I wish you could give me a sign that I won’t be betraying you by asking Lucy what I need to ask her.”

He touches the ring in his jacket pocket, instinctively. It’s still there, just as it has been the past two weeks.

“I want to ask Lucy to marry me. Before you were taken, I never imagined I’d marry anyone but you,” He traces her name across the headstone. “But now that you’re gone and I’ve found Lucy, I don't see how I couldn't imagine marrying her. But marrying her with your ghost hovering around me, I can't do it. It’s not fair to her to only have half of my heart. I hope wherever you are,” He glances up. “That you understand.”

He sets the flowers on the grave for the very last time and stands. “Goodbye, Lorena.”

A note of closure in the quiet air fills him with a sense of comfort.

As he makes for the car, the ring gently bobs in his pocket. It’s practically bursting out of its box by the time he’s back in the driver’s seat, clearly ready to be slid onto Lucy’s finger.

* * *

 

Garcia had set out for Oregon before the sun rose, so he makes it home to San Francisco before the sun sets. When he opens the door to the Victorian, he finds it flooded with golden rays of light.

Lucy walks over to him, barefoot but still in the shirtdress she must have worn to work. The sleeves are rolled up and her bare forearms clasp around his neck. “Hi.”

She presses a gentle kiss to his lips. There’s a hesitant look in her eye and he wonders where the apprehension is stemming from.

He kisses her more firmly, letting his hands wrap around her waist. “I missed you today.”

Pulling back, a little bit of the worry is erased from her expression. “I missed you too. The third level felt so empty without you. It was just me, Sophie, and Mark. He predictably got nothing done without you there, by the way. He spent his afternoon going to the florist to get flowers for Sophie. Actually,” She falters. “He came back with one for me too.”

“A flower?” Garcia frowns. Did Mark make a move on Lucy while he was gone? In front of his girlfriend? Impossible. But why else would Lucy keep diverting her gaze and twisting her hands nervously where the lay across his shoulder blades?

Lucy nods. “An iris.”

“Ah,” Garcia nods, understanding at once.

“He said the florist had a special- buy a bouquet, get a single stem free. An iris, of all flowers. He brought it to me because I’m ‘Sophie’s hero.’ I just, I thought it was so-” She seems to decide on a word, obviously hesitant to use ironic even though that’s the aptest choice. “Coincidental.”

He steps away from Lucy to approach where Lucy’s eyes kept drifting. Sure enough, in the center of the antique dining table is one lone iris in a jar of water. His mind flashes back to the cemetery, his own words echoing in his head:

> _“I wish you could give me a sign.”_

With Lucy at his back, he lets his eyes raise heavenward. Heart swelling in relief, he mouths a silent thank you to Lorena before turning around to Lucy.

“It’s beautiful. And very thoughtful of Mark. I suppose now I won’t remonstrate him for being so unproductive in my absence.”

Lucy laughs, a relieved sound flowing out of her. “I thought it was thoughtful too. I’m glad you like it. I wasn’t sure if-”

“Of course, I do.” He studies her. “I stopped by Araceli, Lorena’s sister’s house when I was in Ashland. I asked her to start leaving a bouquet of irises for me every year. So, it seems I won’t be making the trip back anymore.”

Lucy blinks at him. “Oh. Are you sure?”

She seems skeptical and still nervous so he calms her lips with a kiss. This is precisely why he needed to let himself say goodbye to Lorena. He hates the way she still seems to think herself second best. Even though it’s not true. The love he shared with each of them is entirely different and incomparable. But he knows for certain, that he cannot live without Lucy’s love.

“I missed you too much today so yes I’m sure.”

“I would go with you.” Lucy offers kindly, brown eyes wide with sincerity.

“I know you would.” Garcia takes her hands. “But I think our next trip should be somewhere you’d like to go. Maybe the East Coast? I know how badly you want to go to the Carnegie Museum and see Colonial Williamsburg. In fact, I believe we both have quite a bit of vacation time to use up.”

“That’s true,” Lucy starts to smile, fidgeting with the rolled cuffs of her dress. “I do really want to go to those before the tourism season starts…”

He breaks her pensive expression with a seemingly spontaneous idea. He’s been musing over the possibility but he knows now, he can’t wait. “Let’s take off Friday and Monday. We’ll make it a long weekend.”

“Yes. Please. That would be incredible.” When her face breaks into an elated grin- free of the anxiety of a few moments ago, he feels her pleasure ripple through him.

This is his future.

Lucy steps in to embrace him, settling her face against his chest. Her hands start to trail up his chest until they stop at the pocket of his olive green field jacket. Her brows quirk in a quizzical way as she pulls back to look up at him. “What’s this?”

Her hand is pressed against the ring box, only separated from it by a few millimeters of cotton.

Not letting his face reveal anything, he simply pulls her hand away and settles it up against his heart. “I’m not sure. Probably just my phone or a battery pack. I’ll check later.” He kisses her forehead. “Dinner?”

“I cooked!” Lucy brightens, seeming to forget all about the little velvet box in his pocket. “Okay, that’s actually a white lie. I got one of those meal kits from the organic market down the road so I half-cooked but still it’s a start right? I promise it’s not even burnt.”

“I’d still eat it even if it was,” He entwines his hand through hers, feeling a joyous surge. “Let me just go take off my coat and then I’ll be ready to eat.”

When he comes downstairs, Lucy is serving up the dinner. “I was just about to come get you. I didn’t want the first meal I’ve ever cooked for you to be cold. Where were you?”

He wonders if that’s suspicion on her face as she eyes him over the pan she’s scooping from. “I got our flights.”

“Already?” She is incredulous.

“Fine,” He gives her a begrudging glance. “I’ll admit I may have had them for a while… I was really banking on you saying say to that idea. I just went and sent an email to Denise letting her know we will be taking off a few days. Don’t be mad.”

He kisses her protestations away. “I’m not mad… Just surprised. Why all the secrecy?” She laughs, shaking her head at him.

Never good at keeping secrets from her, he gives her the cryptic version of the truth. “I have a surprise planned for you. You’ll find out what exactly when we get there.”

“Get where?” She sets the pan back down on the stove. “You haven’t even said which part of the East Coast we’re going to first.”

“Ah,” He nods. “True. I suppose you’ll find out when I give you your boarding pass on Thursday morning.”

“Thursday?” Now she does look a little mad and Garcia gives her his sorriest expression. “I can’t wait three days. This way we leave in two.”  
  
She leans against the counter, folding her arms across her chest. “Can’t wait three days for what? Stop being evasive!”

He pulls her away from the counter. “I’m not being evasive, Lucija. You already know all that you need to know. Be patience, my love, the rest you will find out in time. Come on, you said it yourself, the first meal you ever cook for me can’t be a cold one. I don’t even know what you made, it smells delicious though.”

With a bit of reluctance she finally follows him out of the kitchen. “Alright, alright. We’ll eat, I’ll pry it out of you later.”

Arriving to the dining table he sees a homemade pizza with fresh basil and freshly grated parmesan. She didn't even burn the crusts. “This looks impeccable, Lucy. I am impressed, truly.”

“I’ll get the truth about this ‘surprise’ out of you before, Thursday, you know that right? You’re terrible at keeping secrets.” There’s a sparkle in her eye and her lips are curling upward in a challenge.

Chuckling, he nods. “I don’t doubt that you will. But for now, let me try to keep it a secret for a little longer. Until the morning, at least.”

She narrows her eyes, as though deciding and at last bobs her head. “Deal.”

She’s right of course. He can’t wait until Pittsburgh or even Williamsburg, he’ll instead have probably asked her the question by their plane arrives at the gate. Still, he outstretches his hand and makes her shake on it. He’s taken back to the moment they first met, the beaming smile that accompanied her firm handshake.

She once again fills him with light as her hand meets his, just like those few years ago. Thanks to her, he knows how to smile once more- teeth and all. So before she slides her hand away, he returns her with the grin he should have given her the very moment he met her.

She smiles back and it feels like the best moment of his life. Until, he thinks of sliding the ring on her finger and calling her his wife.

It seems, there are many best moments to come with Lucy by his side.

“Volim te.” He leans across the table to kiss her, careful not to bump the pizza.

“I ja tebe” After kissing him back, Lucy places a gentle hand on his chest as she pulls away with a secretive smile. “Dobar tek!”

_Bon appetit._

Garcia leans back in his seat, impressed. “Where did you learn to say that?”

Lucy gives him a coy smile. “I listened to a Croatian language learning audiobook on the way to and from work today. I guess I have a few secrets too.”

“Ja sam impresioniran.” Garcia responds, easily.

“I don’t know what that means yet, but I think you’re impressed?” Lucy looks at him hopefully. She shakes some red pepper flakes onto the pizza.

“Indeed.” He picks up a slice, setting it down on his plate. “With this too. With you, always.”

She beams back at him and he thinks, perhaps she can finish that audiobook in time for him to ask his very important question in Croatian. It’s not like she can misinterpret a man bent on one knee with a ring in hand… He can’t be too certain though.

“Let’s finish that audiobook by Thursday,” Garcia suggests between bites. “I want you to practice with me on the plane.”

“Impatient.” Lucy grins, eyes twinkling. “I like it… I’ll agree on one condition. Only if you promise to tell me the secret surprise at the airport, in Croatian. It’ll be the perfect way to test my fluency.”

Without hesitation, Garcia says, “Deal.”


End file.
